'THE  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  NEXT  WITNESS  CREATED  A  MARKED  SENSATION  IN 
THE  COURT." — [See  p.  114.] 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 


2V  Noud. 


BY  WILKIE    COLLINS, 


AUTHOR   OF 


'THE  MOONSTONE,"   "ARMADALE,"  "THE  WOMAN   IN   WHITE, 
"BASIL,"  "THE  DEAD   SECRET,"  "ANTONINA,"  &c. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
1875.     ' 


WlLKIE   COLLINS'S   NOVELS. 


HARPER'S  ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  EDITION, 

ISmo,  Cloth,  $1  50  per  Volume. 

ARMADALE.  '  MAN  AND  WIFE. 

BASIL.  POOR  MISS  FINCII. 

HIDE-AND-SEEK,  -f-  THE  MOONSTONE.    I 

THE  NEW  MA  GDALEN^  THE  WOMAN  IN 

NO  NAME.   '  THE  DEAD  SECRET.     ' 

QUEEN  OF  HEARTS.    '  AFTER  DARK, and  Other  Storia. 

MY  MISCELLANIES.  ANTONINA. 
THE  LAW  AND    THE  LADY. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Lstt 


932467 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 


PART  I. 

PARADISE  LOST. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  BRIDE'S  MISTAKE. 

"FoR  after  this  manner  in  the  old  time  the  holy  women 
also  who  trusted  in  God  adorned  themselves,  being  in  sub- 
jection unto  their  own  husbands  ;  even  as  Sarah  obeyed 
Abraham,  calling  him  lord ;  whose  daughters  ye  are  as  long 
as  ye  do  well,  and  are  not  afraid  with  any  amazement." 

Concluding  the  Marriage  Service  of  the  Church  of  England 
in  those  well-known  words,  my  uncle  Starkweather  shut  up 
his  book,  and  looked  at  me  across  the  altar  rails  with  a  hearty 
expression  of  interest  on  his  broad,  red  face.  At  the  same  time 
my  aunt,  Mrs.  Starkweather,  standing  by  my  side,  tapped 
me  smartly  on  the  shoulder,  and  said, 

"  Valeria,  you  are  married  !" 

Where  were  my  thoughts  ?  What  had  become  of  my  at- 
tention? I  was  too  bewildered  to  know.  I  started  and 
looked  at  my  new  husband.  He  seemed  to  be  almost  as 
much  bewildered  as  I  was.  .  The  same  thought  had,  as  I  be- 
lieve, occurred  to  us  both  at  the  same  moment.  Was  it  real- 
ly possible — in  spite  of  his  mother's  opposition  to  our  mar- 
riage— that  we  were  Man  and  Wife  ?  My  aunt  Starkweather 
settled  the  question  by  a  second  tap  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Take  his  arm  !"  she  whispered,  in  the  tone  of  a  woman 
who  had  lost  all  patience  with  me. 

I  took  his  arm. 

"Follow  your  unele." 

A  •_• 


10  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

Holding  fast  by  my  husband's  arm,  I  followed  my  uncle 
and  the  curate  who  had  assisted  him  at  the  marriage. 

The  two  clergymen  led  us  into  the  vestry.  The  church 
was  in  one  of  the  dreary  quarters  of  London,  situated  between 
the  City  and  the  West  End;  the  day  was  dull;  the  atmos- 
phere was  heavy  and  damp.  We  were  a  melancholy  little 
wedding  party,  worthy  of  the  dreary  neighborhood  and  the 
dull  day.  No  relatives  or  friends  of  my  husband's  were 
present ;  his  family,  as  ITiave  already  hinted,  disapproved  of 
his  marriage.  Except  my  uncle  and  my  aunt,  no  other  rela- 
tions appeared  on  my  side.  I  had  lost  both  my  parents,  and 
I  had  but  few  friends.  My  dear  father's  faithful  old  clerk, 
Benjamin,  attended  the  wedding  to  "give  me  away,"  as  the 
phrase  is.  He  had  known  me  from  a  child,  and,  in  my  for- 
lorn position,  he  was  as  good  as  a  father  to  rne. 

The  last  ceremony  left  to  be  performed  was,  as  usual,  the 
signing  of  the  marriage  register.  In  the  confusion  of  the 
moment  (and  in  the  absence  of  any  inforanation  to  guide  me) 
I  committed  a  mistake — ominous,  in  my  aunt  Starkweather's 
opinion,  of  evil  to  come.  I  signed  my  married  instead  of  my 
maiden  name. 

"  What !"  cried  my  uncle,  in  his  loudest  and  cheeriest 
tones,  "you  have  forgotten  your  own  name  already?  Well, 
well !  let  us  hope  you  will  never  repent  parting  with  it  so 
readily.  Try  again,  Valeria — try  again." 

With  trembling  fingers  I  struck  the  pen  through  my  first 
effort,  and  wrote  my  maiden  name,  very  badly  indeed,  as 
follows: 


When  it  came  to  my  husband's  turn  I  noticed,  with  sur- 
prise, that  his  hand  trembled  too,  and  that  he  produced  a 
very  poor  specimen  of  his  customary  signature : 


My  aunt,  on  being  requested  to  sign,  complied  under  pro- 
test.    "  A  bad  beginning  !"   she  said,  pointing  to  my  first 


THK     LAW     AND    THE    LADY.  11 

unfortunate  signature  with  the  feather  end  of  her  pen.  "  I 
hope,  my  dear,  you  may  not  live  to  regret  it." 

Kven  then,  in  the  days  of  my  ignorance  and  my  innocence, 
that  curious  outbreak  of  my  aunt's  superstition  produced  a 
certain  uneasy  sensation  in  my  mind.  It  was  a  consolation 
to  me  to  feel  the  reassuring  pressure  of  my  husband's  hand. 
It  was  an  indescribable  relief  to  hear  my  uncle's  hearty  voice 
wiping  me  a  happy  life  at  parting.  The  good  man  had  left 
his  north-country  Vicarage  (my  home  since  the  deatli  of  my 
parents)  expressly  to  read  the  service  at  my  marriage;  and 
he  and  my  aunt  had  arranged  to  return  by  the  mid-day  train. 
He  folded  me  in  his  great  strong  arms,  and  he  gave  me  a 
kiss  which  must  certainly  have  been  heard  by  the  idlers  wait- 
ing for  the  bride  and  bridegroom  outside  the  church  door. 

"I  wish  you  health  and  happiness,  my  love,  with  all  my 
heart.  You  are  old  enough  to  choose  for  yourself,  and — no 
offense,  Mr.  WoodvHle,  you  and  I  are  new  friends — and  I 
pray  God,  Valeria, ^t  may  turn  out  that  you  have  chosen 
well.  Our  house  will  be  dreary  enough  without  you;  but  I 
don't  complain,  my  dear.  On  the  contrary,  if  this  change  in 
your  life  makes  you  happier,  I  rejoice.  Come,  come  !  don't 
cry,  or  you  will  set  your  aunt  off — and  it's  no  joke  at  her 
time  of  life.  Besides,  crying  will  spoil  your  beauty.  Dry 
your  eyes  and  look  in  the  glass  there,  and  you  will  see  that 
I  am  right.  Good-by,  child — and  God  bless  you  !" 

He  tucked  my  aunt  under  his  arm,  and  hurried  out.  My 
heart  sank  a  little,  dearly  as  I  loved  my  husband,  when  I 
had  seen  the  last  of  the  true  friend  and  protector  of  my  maid- 
en days. 

The  parting  with  old  Benjamin  came  next.  "I  wish  you 
well,  my  dear;  don't  forget  me,"  was  all  he  said.  But  the 
old  days  at  home  came  back  on  me  at  those  few  words.  Ben- 
jamin always  dined  with  us  on  Sundays  in  my  father's  time, 
and  always  brought  some  little  present  with  him  for  his  mas- 
ter's child.  I  was  very  near  to  "spoiling  my  beauty"  (as 
my  uncle  had  put  it)  when  I  offered  the  old  man  my  cheek 
to  kiss,  and  heard  him  sigh  to  himself,  as  if  he  too  were  not 
quite  hopeful  about  my  future  life. 

My  husband's  voice  roused  me,  and  turned  my  mind  to 
happier  thoughts. 

"  Shall  we  go,  Valeria  ?"  he  asked. 

I  stopped  him  on  our  way  out  to  take  advantage  of  my 


12  THE   LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

uncle's  advice;  in  other  words,  to  see  how  I  looked  in  the 
glass  over  the  vestry  fire-place. 

What  does  the  glass  show  me  ? 

The  glass  shows  a  tall  and  slender  young  woman  of  three- 
and-twenty  years  of  age.  She  is  not  at  all  the  sort  of  person 
who  attracts  attention  in  the  street,  seeing  that  she  fails  to 
exhibit  the  popular  yellow  hair  and  the  popular  painted 
cheeks.  Her  hair  is  black ;  dressed,  in  these  later  days  (as 
it  was  dressed  years  since  to  please  her  father),  in  broad  rip- 
ples drawn  back  from  the  forehead,  and  gathered  into  a  sim- 
ple knot  behind  (like  the  hair  of  the  Venus  de  Medicis),so  as 
to  show  the  neck  beneath.  Her  complexion  is  pale :  except 
in  moments  of  violent  agitation  there  is  no  color  to  be  seen 
in  her  face.  Her  eyes  are  of  so  dark  a  blue  that  they  are 
generally  mistaken  for  black.  Her  eyebrows  are  well  enough 
in  form,  but  they  are  too  dark  and  too  strongly  marked.  Her 
nose  just  inclines  towai'd  the  aquiline  bend,  and  is  considered 
a  little  too  large  by  persons  difficult  to  please  in  the  matter 
of  noses.  The  mouth,  her  best  feature,  is  very  delicately 
shaped,  and  is  capable  of  presenting  great  varieties  of  ex- 
pression. As  to  the  face  in  general,  it  is  too  narrow  and  too 
long  at  the  lower  part,  too  broad  and  too  low  in  the  higher 
regions  of  the  eyes  and  the  head.  The  whole  picture,  as  re- 
flected in  the  glass,  represents  a  woman  of  some  elegance, 
rather  too  pale,  and  rather  too  sedate  and  serious  in  her  mo- 
ments of  silence  and  repose — in  short,  a  person  who  fails  to 
strike  the  ordinary  observer  at  first  sight,  but  who  gains  in 
general  estimation  on  a  second,  and  sometimes  on  a  third 
view.  As  for  her  dress,  it  studiously  conceals,  instead  of 
proclaiming,  that  she  has  been  married  that  morning.  She 
wears  a  gray  cashmere  tunic  trimmed  with  gray  silk,  and 
having  a  skirt  of  the  same  material  and  color  beneath  it. 
On  her  head  is  a  bonnet  to  match,  relieved  by  a  quilling  of 
white  muslin,  with  one  deep  red  rose,  as  a  morsel  of  positive 
color,  to  complete  the  eifect  of  the  whole  dress. 

Have  I  succeeded  or  failed  in  describing  the  picture  of 
myself  which  I  see  in  the  glass  ?  It  is  not  for  me  to  say.  I 
have  done  my  best  to  keep  clear  of  the  two  vanities  —  the 
vanity  of  depreciating  and  the  vanity  of  praising  my  own 
personal  appearance.  For  the  rest,  well  written  or  badly 
written,  thank  Heaven  it  is  done  ! 


THE    LAW    AM)    TIIK    I.ADV.  1  :! 

And  whom  do  I  see  in  the  glass  standing  by  ray  side  '? 

I  see  a  man  who  is  not  quite  so  tall  as  I  am,  and  who  has 
the  misfortune  of  looking  older  than  his  years.  His  forehead 
is  prematurely  bald.  His  big  chestnut-colored  beard  and  his 
long  overhanging  mustache  are  prematurely  streaked  with 
gray.  He  has  the  color  in  the  face  which  my  face  wants, 
and  the  firmness  in  his  figure  which  my  figure  wants.  He 
looks  at  me  with  the  tenderest  and  gentlest  eyes  (of  a  light 
brown)  that  I  ever  saw  in  the  countenance  of  a  man.  His 
smile  is  rare  and  sweet;  his  manner,  perfectly  quiet  and  re- 
tiring, has  yet  a  latent  persuasiveness  in  it  which  is  (to  wom- 
en) irresistibly  winning.  He  just  halts  a  little  in  his  walk, 
from  the  effect  of  an  injury  received  in  past  years,  when  he 
was  a  soldier  serving  in  India,  and  he  carries  a  thick  bamboo 
cane,  with  a  curious  crutch  handle  (an  old  favorite),  to  help 
himself  along  whenever  he  gets  on  his  feet,  in  doors  or  out. 
With  this  one  little  drawback  (if  it  is  a  drawback),  there  is 
nothing  infirm  or  old  or  awkward  about  him  ;  his  slight  limp 
when  he  walks  has  (perhaps  to  my  partial  eyes)  a  certain 
quaint  grace  of  its  own,  which  is  pleasanter  to  see  than  the 
unrestrained  activity  of  other  men.  And  last  and  best  of  all, 
I  love  him  !  I  love  him  !  I  love  him  !  And  there  is  an  end 
of  my  portrait  of  my  husband  on  our  wedding-day. 

The  glass  has  told  me  all  I  want  to  know.  We  leave  the 
vestry  at  last. 

The  sky,  cloudy  since  the  morning,  has  darkened  while  we 
have  been  in  the  church,  and  the  rain  is  beginning  to  fall 
heavily.  The  idlers  outside  stare  at  us  grimly  under  their 
umbrellas  as  we  pass  through  their  ranks  and  hasten  into  our 
carriage.  No  cheering;  no  sunshine;  no  flowers  strewn  in 
our  path  ;  no  grand  breakfast ;  no  genial  speeches  ;  no  bride- 
maids;  no  father's  or  mother's  blessing.  A  dreary  wedding 
— there  is  no  denying  it — and  (if  Aunt  Starkweather  is  right) 
a  bad  beginning  as  well ! 

A  covpe  has  been  reserved  for  ns  at  the  railway  station. 
The  attentive  porter,  on  the  lookout  for  his  fee,  pulls  down 
the  blinds  over  the  side  windows  of  the  carriage,  and  shuts 
out  all  prying  eyes  in  that  way.  Alter  what  seems  to  be  an 
interminable  delay  the  train  starts.  My  husband  winds  his 
arm  round  me.  "  At  last  !''  he  whispers,  with  love  in  his  eyes 
that  no  words  can  utter,  and  presses  me  to  him  gently. 
,AIy  arm  steals  round  his  neck;  my  eyes  answer  hi- 


14  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

Our  lips  meet  in  the  first  long,  lingering  kiss  of  our  married 
life. 

Oh,  what  recollections  of  that  journey  rise  in  me  as  I  write  ! 
Let  me  dry  my  eyes,  and  shut  up  my  paper  for  the  day. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  BRIDE'S  THOUGHTS. 

WE  had  been  traveling  for  a  little  more  than  an  hour 
when  a  change  passed  insensibly  over  us  both. 

Still  sitting  close  together,  with  my  hand  in  his,  with  my 
head  on  his  shoulder,  little  by  little  we  fell  insensibly  into  si- 
lence. Had  we  already  exhausted  the  narrow  yet  eloquent 
vocabulary  of  love  ?  Or  had  we  determined  by  unexpressed 
consent,  after  enjoying  the  luxury  of  passion  that  speaks,  to 
try  the  deeper  and  finer  rapture  of  passion  that  thinks?  I 
can  hardly  determine  ;  I  only  know  that  a  time  came  when, 
under  some  strange  influence,  our  lips  were  closed  toward 
each  other.  We  traveled  along,  each  of  us  absorbed  in  our 
own  reverie.  Was  he  thinking  exclusively  of  me — as  I  was 
thinking  exclusively  of  him  ?  Before  the  journey's  end  I  had 
my  doubts;  at  a  little  later  time  I  knew  for  certain  that  his 
thoughts,  wandering  far  away  from  his  young  wife,  were  all 
turned  inward  on  his  own  unhappy  self 

For  me  the  secret  pleasure  of  filling  my  mind  with  him, 
while  I  felt  him  by  my  side,  was  a  luxury  in  itself. 

I  pictured  in  my  thoughts  our  first  meeting  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  my  uncle's  house. 

Our  famous  north-country  trout  stream  wound  its  flashing 
and  foaming  way  through  a  ravine  in  the  rocky  moor-land. 
It  was  a  windy,  shadowy  evening.  A  heavily  clouded  sunset 
lay  low  and  red  in  the  west.  A  solitary  angler  stood  cast- 
ing his  fly  at  a  turn  in  the  stream  where  the  backwater  lay 
still  and  deep  under  an  overhanging  bank.  A  girl  (myself) 
standing  on  the  bank,  invisible  to  the  fisherman  beneath^ 
waited  eagerly  to  see  the  trout  rise. 

The  moment  came  ;  the  fish  took  the  fly. 

Sometimes  on  the  little  level  strip  of  sand  at  the  foot  of 
the  bank,  sometimes  (when  the.  stream  turned  again)  in  the 
shallower  water  rushing  over  its  rocky  bed,  the  angler  fol- 


TIIK    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  15 

lowed  the  captured  trout,  now  letting  the  line  run  out,  and 
now  winding  it  in  again,  in  the  difficult  and  delicate  process 
of  "playing"  the  fish.  Along  the  bank  I  followed  to  watch 
the  contest  of  skill  and  cunning  between  the  man  and  the 
trout.  I  had  lived  long  enough  with  my  uncle  Starkweath- 
er to  catch  some  of  his  enthusiasm  for  field  sports,  and  to 
learn  something,  especially,  of  the  angler's  art.  Still  follow- 
ing the  stranger,  with  my  eyes  intently  fixed  on  every  move- 
ment of  his  rod  and  line,  and  with  not  so  much  as  a  chance 
fragment  of  my  attention  to  spare  for  the  rough  path  along 
which  I  was  walking,  I  stepped  by  chance  on  the  loose  over- 
hanging earth  at  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  fell  into  the  stream 
in  an  instant. 

The  distance  was  trifling,  the  water  was  shallow,  the  bed 
of  the  river  was  (fortunately  for  me)  of  sand.  Beyond  the 
fright  and  the  wetting  I  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  In  a 
lew  moments  I  was  out  of  the  water  and  up  again,  very  much 
ashamed  of  myself,  on  the  firm  ground.  Short  as  the  inter- 
val was,  it  proved  long  enough  to  favor  the  escape  of  the 
fish.  The  angler  had  heard  my  first  instinctive  cry  of  alarm, 
had  turned,  and  had  thrown  aside  his  rod  to  help  me.  We 
confronted  each  other  for  the  first  time,  I  on  the  bank  and  he 
in  the  shallow  water  below.  Our  eyes  encountered,  and  I 
verily  believe  our  hearts  encountered  at  the  same  moment. 
This  I  know  for  certain,  we  forgot  our  breeding  as  lady  and 
gentleman  :  we  looked  at  each  other  in  barbarous  silence. 

I  was  the  first  to  recover  myself.    What  did  I  say  to  him? 

I  said  something  about  my  not  being  hurt,  and  then  some- 
thing more,  urging  him  to  run  back  and  try  if  he  might  not 
yet  recover  the  fish. 

He  weivt  back  unwillingly.  He  returned  to  me — of  course 
without  the  fish.  Knowing  how  bitterly  disappointed  my 
uncle  would  have  been  in  his  place,  I  apologized  Very  ear- 
nestly. In  my  eagerness  to  make  atonement,  I  even  offered 
to  show  him  a  spot  where  he  might  try  again,  lower  down 
the  stream. 

He  would  not  hear  of  it;  he  entreated  me  to  go  home  and 
change  my  wet  dress.  I  cared  nothing  for  the  wetting,  but 
I  obeyed  him  without  knowing  why. 

He  walked  with  me.  My  way  back  to  the  Vicarage  was 
his  way  back  to  the  inn.  lie  had  come  to  our  parts,  he  told 
me,  for  the  quiet  and  retirement  as  much  as  tor  the  fishing. 


16  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

He  had  noticed  me  once  or  twice  from  the  window  of  his  room 
at  the  inn.  He  asked  ^f  I  were  not  the  vicar's  daughter. 

I  set  him  right.  I  told  him  that  the  vicar  had  married  my 
mother's  sister,  and  that  the  two  had  been  father  and  mother 
to  me  since  the  death  of  my  parents.  He  asked  if  he  might 
venture  to  call  on  Doctor  Starkweather  the  next  day,  men- 
tioning the  name  of  a  friend  of  his,  with  whom  he  believed 
the  vicar  to  be  acquainted.  I  invited  him  to  visit  us,  as  if  it 
had  been  my  house;  I  was  spell-bound  under  h^g  eyes  and 
under  his  voice.  I  had  fancied,  honestly  fancied,  myself  to 
have  been  in  love  often  and  often  before  this  time.  Never 
in  any  other  man's  company  had  I  felt  as  I  now  felt  in  the 
presence  of  this  man.  Night  seemed  to  fall  suddenly  over 
the  evening  landscape  when  he  left  me.  I  leaned  against  the 
Vicarage  gate.  I  could  not  breathe,  I  could  not  think  ;  my 
heart  fluttered  as  if  it  would  fly  out  of  my  bosom  —  and  all 
this  for  a  stranger !  I  burned  with  shame ;  but  oh,  in  spite 
of  it  all,  I  was  so  happy  ! 

And  now,  when  little  more  than  a  few  weeks  had  passed 
since  that  first  meeting,  I  had  him  by  my  side ;  he  was  mine 
for  life  !  I  lifted  my  head  from  his  bosom  to  look  at  him.  I 
was  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy — I  wanted  to  make  sure  that 
he  was  really  my  own. 

He  never  noticed  the  action  ;  he  never  moved  in  his  corner 
of  the  carriage.  Was  he  deep  in  his  own  thoughts  ?  and  were 
they  thoughts  of  Me? 

I  laid  down  my  hoad  again  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  him. 
My  thoughts  wandered  backward  once  more,  and  showed 
me  another  picture  in  the  golden  gallery  of  the  past. 

The  garden  at  the  Vicarage  formed  the  new  scene.  The 
time  was  night.  We  had  met  together  in  secret.  We  were 
walking  slowly  to  and  fro,  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  now  in 
the  shadowy  paths  of  the  shrubbery,  now  in  the  lovely  moon- 
light on  the  open  lawn. 

We  had  long  since  owned  our  love,  and  devoted  our  lives 
to  each  other.  Already  our  interests  were  one  ;  already  we 
shared  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  life.  I  had  gone  out 
to  meet  him  that  night  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  seek  comfort 
in  his  presence,  and  to  find  encouragement  in  his  voice.  He 
noticed  that  I  sighed  when  he  first  took  me  in  his  arms,  and 
he  gently  turned  my  head  toward  the  moonlight  to  read  my 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  17 

trouble  in  my  face.  How  often  he  had  read  my  happiness 
there  in  the  earlier  days  of  our  love  !  t 

"You  bring  bad  news,  my  angel,"  he  said,  lifting  my  hair 
tenderly  from  my  forehead  as  he  spoke.  "I  see  the  lines 
here  which  tell  me  of  anxiety  and  distress.  I  almost  wish  I 
loved  yon  less  dearly,  Valeria." 

"Whyf1 

"  I  might  give  you  back  yonr  freedom.  I  have  only  to  leave 
this  place,  and  your  uncle  would  be  satisfied,  and  you  would 
be  relieved  from  all  the  cares  that  are  pressing  on  you  now." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Eustace !  If  you  want  me  to  forget 
my  cares,  say  you  love  me  more  dearly  than  ever." 

He  said  it  in  a  kiss.     We  had  a  moment  of  exquisite  for- 

getfulness  of  the  hard  ways  of  life — a  moment  of  delicious 

absorption  in  each  other.     I  came  back  to  realities  fortified 

and  composed,  rewarded  for  all  that  I  had  gone  through, 

ready   to   go  through   it    all  over  again  for  another  kiss. 

I  Only  give  a  woman  love,  and  there  is  nothing  she  will  not 

\  venture,  suffer,  and  do. 

vNo,  they  have  done  with  objecting.  They  have  remem- 
bered at  last  that  I  am  of  age,  and  that  I  can  choose  for  my- 
self. They  have  been  pleading  with  me,  Eustace,  to  give 
you  up.  My  aunt,  whom  I  thought  rather  a  hard  woman, 
has  been  crying — for  the  first  time  in  my  experience  of  her. 
My  uncle,  always  kind  and  good  to  me,  has  been  kinder  and 
better  than  ever.  He  has  told  me  that  if  I  persist  in  be- 
coming your  wife,  I  shall  not*be  deserted  on  my  wedding- 
d^.  Wherever  we  may  marry,  he  will  be  there  to  read  the 
service,  and  my  aunt  will  go  to  the  church  with  me.  But  he 
entreats  me  to  consider  seriously  what  I  am  doing — to  con- 
sent to  a  separation  from  you  for  a  time — to  consult  other 
people  on  my  position  toward  you,  if  I  am  not  satisfied  with 
his  opinion.  Oh,  my  darling,  they  are  as  anxious  to  part  us 
as  if  you  were  the  worst  instead  of  the  best  of  men!" 

"  lias  any  thing  happened  since  yesterday  to  increase  their 
distrust  of  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You  remember  referring  my  uncle  to  a  friend  of  yours 
and  of  hi 

"  Yes.     To  Major  Fitz-David." 

"My  uncte  has  written  to  Major  Fit/.-David." 


18  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

"Why?" 

He  pronounced  that  one  word  in  a  tone  so  utterly  unlike 
his  natural  tone  that  his  voice  sounded  quite  strange  to  me. 

"  You  won't  be  angry,  Eustace,  if  I  tell  you  ?"  I  said.  "  My 
uncle,  as  I  understood  him,  had  several  motives  for  writing 
to  the  major.  One  of  them  was  to  inquire  if  he  knew  your 
mother's  address." 

Eustace  suddenly  stood  still. 

I  paused  at  the  same  moment,  feeling  that  I  could  venture 
no  farther  without  the  risk  of  offending  him. 

To  speak  the  truth,  his  conduct,  when  he  first  mentioned 
our  engagement  to  my  uncle,  had  been  (so  far  as  appearances 
went)  a  little  flighty  and  strange.  The  vicar  had  naturally 
questioned  him  about  his  family.  He  had  answered  that  his 
father  was  dead ;  and  he  had  consented,  though  not  very 
readily,  to  announce  his  contemplated  marriage  to  his  mother. 
Informing  us  that  she  too  lived  in  the  country,  he  had  gone 
to  see  her,  without  more  particularly  mentioning  her  address. 
In  two  days  he  had  returned  to  the  Vicarage  with  a  very 
startling  message.  His  mother  intended  no  disrespect  to. me 
or  my  relatives,  but  she  disapproved  so  absolutely  of  her 
son's  marriage  that  she  (and  the  members  of  her  family,  who 
all  agreed  with  her)  would  refuse  to  be  present  at  the  cere- 
mony, if  Mr.Woodville  persisted  in  keeping  his  engagement 
with  Dr.  Starkweather's  niece.  Being  asked  to  explain  this 
extraordinary  communication,  Eustace  had  told  us  that  his 
mother  and  his  sisters  were  Jbent  on  his  marrying  another 
lady,  and  that  they  were  bitterly  mortified  and  disappointed 
by  his  choosing  a  stranger  to  the  family.  This  explanation 
was  enough  for  me ;  it  implied,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  a 
compliment  to  my  superior  influence  over  Eustace,  which  a 
woman  always  receives  with  pleasure.  But  it  failed  to  sat- 
isfy my  uncle  and  my  aunt.  The  vicar  expressed  to  Mr. 
Woodville  a  wish  to  write  to  his  mother,  or  to  see  her,  on 
the  subject  of  her  strange  message.  Eustace  obstinately  de- 
clined to  mention  his  mother's  address,  on  the  ground  that 
the  vicar's  interference  would  be  utterly  useless.  My  uncle 
at  once  drew  the  •conclusion  that  the  mystery  about  the  ad- 
dress indicated  something  wrong.  He  refused  to  favor  Mr. 
Woodville's  renewed  proposal  for  my  hand,  and  he  wrote  tha 
same  day  to  make  inquiries  of  Mr.  Woodville's  reference  and 
of  his  own  friend  Major  Fitz-Pavid. 


I  UK    LAW    AND    TIIK    LADY.  10 

Under  such  circumstances  as  these,  to  speak  of  my  uncle's 
motives  was  to  venture  on  very  delicate  ground.  Eustace 
relieved  me  from  further  embarrassment  by  asking  a  question 
to  which  I  could  easily  reply. 

"Has  your  uncle  received  any  answer  from  Major  Fitz- 
David  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes." 

"Were  you  allowed  to  read  it?"  His  voice  sank  as  he 
said  those  words;  his  face  betrayed  a  sudden  anxiety  which 
it  pained  me  to  see. 

"I  have  got  the  answer  with  me  to  show  you,"  I  said. 

He  almost  snatched  the  letter  out  of  my  hand;  he  turned 
his  back  on  me  to  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  The 
letter  was  short  enough  to  be  soon  read.  I  could  have  re- 
peated it  at  the  time.  I  can  repeat  it  now. 

"  DEAR  VICAR, — Mr.  Eustace  "Woodville  is  quite  correct  in 
stating  to  you  that  he  is  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  position, 
and  that  he  inherits  (under  his  deceased  father's  will)  an  in- 
dependent fortune  of  two  thousand  a  year. 

"Always  yours,  LAWRENCE  FITZ-DAVID." 

"Can  any  body  wish  for  a  plainer  answer  than  that?" 
Eustace  asked,  handing  the  letter  back  to  me. 

"If /had  written  for  information  about  you,"  I  answered, 
"  it  would  have  been  plain  enough  for  me." 

"  Is  it  not  plain  enough  for  your  uncle  ?" 

"  No." 

"What  does  he  say?". 

"  Why  need  you  care  to  know,  my  darling?" 

"I  want  to  know, Valeria.  There  must  be  no  secret  be- 
tween us  in  this  matter.  Did  your  uncle  say  any  thing 
when  he  showed  you  the  major's  letter?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  was  it  ?" 

"My  uncle  told  me  that  his  letter  of  inquiry  filled  three 
pat^es,  and  he  bade  me  observe  that  the  major's  answer  con- 
tained one  sentence  only.  He  said',  'I  volunteered  to  go  to 
Major  Fit./-David  and  talk  the  matter  over.  You  see  he 
takes  no  notice  of  my  proposal.  I  asked  him  for  the  address 
of  Mr.  Wood  viile*8  mother.  He  passes  over  my  request,  as 
he  has  passed  over  my  proposal — he  studiously  confines  him- 


20  THE    LAW    AND   THK    LADY. 

self  to  the  shortest  possible  statement  of  bare  facts.  Use 
your  own  common-sense,  Valeria.  Isn't  this  rudeness  rather 
remarkable  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  is  a  gentleman  by  birth 
and  breeding,  and  who  is  also  a  friend  of  mine  ?'  " 

Eustace  stopped  me  there. 

"  Did  you  answer  your  uncle's  question  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  I  only  said  that  I  did  not  understand 
the  major's  conduct." 

"  And  what  did  your  uncle  say  next  ?  If  you  love  me, 
Valeria,  tell  me  the  truth." 

"  He  used  very  strong  language,  Eustace.  He  is  an  old 
man ;  you  must  not  be  offended  with  him." 

"  I  am  not  offended.     What  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  said,  'Mark  my  words!  There  is  something  under 
the  surface  in  connection  with  Mr.  Woodville,  or  with  his 
family,  to  which  Major  Fitz-David  is  not  at  liberty  to  allude. 
Properly  interpreted,  Valeria,  that  letter  is  a  warning.  Show, 
it  to  Mr.  Woodville,  and  tell  him  (if  you  like)  what  I  have 
just  told  you — ' " 

Eustace  stopped  me  again. 

"You  are  sure  your  uncle  said  those  words?"  he  asked, 
scanning  my  face  attentively  in  the  moonlight. 

"Quite  sure.  But  I  don't  say  what  my  uncle  says.  Pray 
don't  think  that !" 

He  suddenly  pressed  me  to  his  bosom,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  mine.  His  look  frightened  me. 

"  Good-by,  Valeria  !"  he  said.  "  Try  and  think  kindly  of 
me,  my  darling,  when  you  are  married  to  some  happier  man." 

He  attempted  to  leave  me.  I  clung  to  him  in  an  agony 
of  terror  that  shook  me  from  head  to  foot. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  I  asked,  as  soon  as  I  could  speak. 
"  I  am  yours  and  yours  only.  What  have  I  said,  what  have 
I  done,  to  deserve  those  dreadful  words  ?" 

"We  must  part,  my  angel,"  he  answered,  sadly.  "The 
fault  is  none  of  yours ;  the  misfortune  is  all  mine.  My  Va- 
leria !  how  can  you  marry  a  man  who  is  an  object  of  sus- 
picion to  your  nearest  and  dearest  friends?  I  have  led  a, 
dreary  life.  I  have  never  found  in  any  other  woman  the 
sympathy  with  me,  the  sweet  comfort  and  companionship, 
that  I  find  in  you.  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  lose  you  !  it  is  hard  to 
go  back  again  to  my  unfriended  life  !  I  must  make  the  sac- 
rifice, love,  for  your  sake.  I  know  no  more  why  that  letter 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  21 

is  what  it  is  than  you  do.  Will  your  uncle  believe  me?  will 
your  friends  believe  me  V  One  last  kiss,  Valeria  !  Forgive 
me  for  having  loved  you — passionately,  devotedly  loved  you. 
Forgive  me — and  let  me  go!" 

I  held  him  desperately,  recklessly.  His  eyes  put  me  be- 
side myself;  his  words  tilled  me  with  a  frenzy  of  despair. 

"  Go  where  you  may,"  I  said,  "I  go  with  you  !  Friends — 
reputation — I  care  nothing  who  I  lose,  or  what  I  lose !  Oh, 
Eustace,  I  am  only  a  woman — don't  madden  me  !  I  can't 
live  without  yon.  I  must  and  will  be  your  wife !" 

Those  wild  words  were  all  I  could  say  before  the  misery 
and  madness  in  me  forced  their  way  outward  in  a  burst  of 
sobs  and  tears. 

He  yielded.  He  soothed  me  with  his  charming  voice;  he 
brought  me  back  to  myself  with  his  tender  caresses.  He 
called  the  bright  heaven  "above  us  to  witness  that  he  de- 
voted his  whole  life  to  me.  He  vowed — oh,  in  such  solemn, 
such  eloquent  words  ! — that  his  one  thought,  night  arid  day, 
should  be  to  prove  himself  worthy  of  such  love  as  mine. 
And  had  he  not  nobly  redeemed  the  pledge  ?  Had  not  the 
betrothal  of  that  memorable  night  been  followed  by  the  be- 
trothal at  the  altar,  by  the  vows  before  God!  Ah,  what  a 
life  was  before  me!  What  more  than  mortal  happiness  was 
mine ! 

Again  I  lifted  my  head  from  his  bosom  to  tnsle  the  dear 
delight  of  seeing  him  by  my  side — my  life,  my  love,  my  hus- 
band, my  own ! 

Hardly  awakened  yet  from  the  absorbing  memories  of  the 
past  to  the  sweet  realities  of  the  present,  I  let  my  cheek 
touch  his  cheek,  I  whispered  to  him  softly,  "  Oh,  how  1  love 
you  !  how  I  love  you  !" 

The  next  instant  I  started  back  from  him.  My  heart  stood 
still.  I  put  my  hand  up  to  my  face.  What  did  I  feel  on  my 
cheek  ?  (/  had  not  been  weeping — I  was  too  happy.)  What 
did  I  feel  on  my  cheek?  A  tear! 

His  face  was  still  averted  from  me.  I  turned  it  toward 
me,  with  my  own  hands,  by  main  force. 

I  looked  at  him — and  saw  my  husband,  on  our  wedding- 
day,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 


22  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

RAMSGATE    .SANDS. 

EUSTACE  succeeded  in  quieting  my  alarm.  But  I  can  hard- 
ly say  that  he  succeeded  in  satisfying  my  mind  as  well. 

He  had  been  thinking,  he  told  me,  of  the  contrast  between 
his  past  and  his  present  life.  ^Bitter  remembrance  of  the 
years  that  had  gone  had  risen  in  his  memory,  and  had  filled 
him  with  melancholy  misgivings  of  his  capacity  to  make  my 
life  with  him  a  happy  one.  He  had  asked  himself  if  he  had 
not  met  me  too  late — if  he  were  not  already  a  man  soured 
and  broken  by  the  disappointments  and  disenchantments  of 
the  past  ?  Doubts  such  as  these,  weighing  more  and  more 
heavily  on  his  mind,  had  filled  his  eyes  with  the  tears  which 
I  had  discovered — tears  which  he  now  entreated  me,  by  mv 
love  for  him,  to  dismiss  from  my  memory  forever. 

I  forgave  him,  comforted  him,  revived  him ;  but  there  were 
moments  when  the  remembrance  of  what  I  had  seen  troubled 
me  in  secret,  and  when  I  asked  myself  if  I  really  possessed 
my  husband's  full  confidence  as  he  possessed  mine. 

We  left  the  train  at  Ramsgate. 

The  favorite  watering-place  was  empty  ;  the  season  was 
just  over.  Our  arrangements  for  the  wedding  tour  included 
a  cruise  to  the  Mediterranean  in  a  yacht  lent  to  Eustace  by 
a  friend.  We  were  both  fond  of  the  sea,  and  we  were  equal- 
ly desirous,  considering  the  circumstances  under  which  we 
had  married,  of  escaping  the  notice  of  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. With  this  object  in  view,  having  celebrated  our  mar- 
riage privately  in  London,  we  had  decided  on  instructing  the 
sailing-master  of  the  yacht  to  join  us  at  Ramsgate.  At  this 
port  (when  the  season  for  visitors  was  at  an  end)  we  could 
embark  far  more  privately  than  at  the  popular  yachting  sta- 
tions situated  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 

Three  days  passed — days  of  delicious  solitude,  of  exquisite 
happiness,  never  to  be  forgotten,  never  to  be  lived  over  again, 
to  the  end  of  our  lives  ! 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  just  before  sun- 
rise, a  trifling  incident  happened,  which  was  noticeable,  nev- 


THE    I.A\V    AM)    TIIK    I,AI>V.  23 

erthek'ss,  as  being  strange  to  me  in  inv  experience  of  my- 
self. 

I  awoke,  suddenly  and  unaccountably,  from  a  deep  and 
dreamless  sleep  with  an  all-pervading  sensation  of  nervous 
uneasiness  which  I  had  never  felt  before.  In  the  old  days  at 
the  Vicarage  my  capacity  as  a  sound  sleeper  had  been  the 
subject  of  many  a  little  harmless  joke.  From  the  moment 
when  my  head  was"  on  the  pillow  I  had  never  known  what  it 
was  to  awake  until  the  maid  knocked  at  my  door.  At  all  sea- 
sons and  times  the  long  and  uninterrupted  repose  of  a  child 
was  the  repose  that  I  enjoyed. 

And  now  I  had  awakened,  without  any  assignable  cause, 
hours  before  my  usual  time.  I  tried  to  compose  myself  to 
sleep  again.  The  effort  was  useless.  Such  a  restlessness  pos- 
sessed me  that  I  was  not  even  able  to  lie  still  in  the  bed. 
My  husband  was  sleeping  soundly  by  my  side.  In  the  fear 
of  disturbing  him  I  rose,  and  put  on  my  dressing-gown  and 
slippers. 

I  went  to  the  window.  The  sun  was  just  rising  over  the 
calm  gray  sea.  For  a  while  the  majestic  spectacle  before  me 
exercised  a  tranquilizing  influence  on  the  irritable  condition 
of  my  nerves.  But  ere  long  the  old  restlessness  returned 
upon  me.  I  walked  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  until  I 
was  weary  of  the  monotony  of  the  exercise.  I  took  up  a 
book,  and  laid  it  aside  again.  My  attention  wandered ;  the 
author  was  powerless  to  recall  it.  I  got  on  my  feet  once 
more,  and  looked  at  Eustace,  and  admired  him  and  loved  him 
in  his  tranquil  sleep.  I  went  back  to  the  window,  and  wea- 
ried of  the  beautiful  morning.  I  sat  down  before  the  glass 
and  looked  at  myself.  How  haggard  and  worn  I  was  al- 
ready, through  awaking  before  my  usual  time  !  _J  rose  again, 
not  knowing  what  to  do  next.  The  confinement  to  the  four 
walls  of  the  room  began  to  be  intolerable  to  me.  I  opened 
the  door  that  led  into  my  husband's  dressing-room,  and  en- 
tered it,  to  try  if  the  change  would  relieve  me. 

The  first  object  that  I  noticed  was  his  dressing-case,  open 
on  the  toilet-table. 

I  took  out  the  bottles  and  pots  and  brushes  and  combs, 
the  knives  and  scissors  in  one  compartment,  the  writing  ma- 
terials in  another.  I  smelt  the  perfumes  and  pomatums;  I 
busily  cleaned  and  dusted  the  bottles  with  my  handkerchief 
as  I  look  them  out.  Little  by  little  T  completely  emptied 


'24  THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

the  dressing-case.  It  was  lined  with  blue  velvet.  In  one 
corner  I  noticed  a  tiny  slip  of  loose  blue  silk.  Taking  it  be- 
tween my  finger  and  thumb,  and  drawing  it  upward,  I  dis- 
covered that  there  was  a  false  bottom  to  the  case,  forming  a 
secret  compartment  for  letters  and  papers.  In  my  strange 
condition — capricious,  idle,  inquisitive — it  was  an  amusement 
to  me  to  take  out  the  papers,  just  as  I  had  taken  out  every 
thing  else. 

I  found  some  receipted  bills,  which  failed  to  interest  me; 
some  letters,  which  it  is  needless  to  say  I  laid  aside  after 
only  looking  at  the  addresses;  and,  under  all,  a  photograph, 
face  downward,  with  writing  on  the  back  of  it.  I  looked  at 
the  writing,  and  saw  these  words : 

"  To  my  dear  son,  Eustace." 

His  mother !  the  woman  who  had  so  obstinately  and  mer- 
cilessly opposed  herself  to  our  marriage  ! 

I  eagerly  turned  the  photograph,  expecting  to  see  a  wom- 
an with  a  stern,  ill-tempered,  forbidding  countenance.  To 
my  surprise,  the  face  showed  the  remains  of  great  beauty; 
the  expression,  though  remarkably  firm,  Avas  yet  winning, 
tender,  and  kind.  The  gray  hair  was  arranged  in  rows  of 
little  quaint  old-fashioned  curls  on  either  side  of  the  head, 
under  a  plain  lace  cap.  At  one  corner  of  the  mouth  there 
was  a  mark,  apparently  a  mole,  which  added  to  the  charac- 
teristic peculiarity  of  the  face.  I  looked  and  looked,  fixing 
the  portrait  thoroughly  in  my  mind.  This  woman,  who  had 
almost  insulted  me  and  my  relatives,  was,  beyond  all  doubt 
or  dispute,  so  far  as  appearances  went,  a  person  possessing 
unusual  attractions — a  person  whom  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
and  a  privilege  to  know. 

I  fell  into  deep  thought.  The  discovery  of  the  photograph 
quieted  me  as  nothing  had  quieted  me  yet. 

The  striking  of  a  clock  down  stairs  in  the  hall  warned  me 
of  the  flight  of  time.  I  carefully  put  back  all  the  objects  in 
the  dressing-case  (beginning  with  the  photograph)  exactly 
as  I  had  found  them,  and  returned  to  the  bedroom.  As  I 
looked  at  my  husband,  still  sleeping  peacefully,  the  question 
forced  itself  into  my  mind,  What  had  made  that  genial,  gen- 
tle mother  of  his  so  sternly  bent  on  parting  us  ?  so  harshly 
and  pitilessly  resolute  in  asserting  her  disapproval  of  our 
marriage? 

Could  T  put  my  question  openly  to  Eustace  when  he  awoke  ? 


THE    LAW    AND   TUB    LADY.  25 

No  ;  I  was  afraid  to  venture  that  length.  It  had  been  tacit- 
ly understood  between  us  that  we  were  not  to  speak  of  his 
mother — and,  besides,  he  might  be  angry  if  he  knew  that  I 
had  opened  the  private  compartment  of  his  dressing-case. 

After  breakfast  that  morning  we  had  news  at  last  of  the 
yacht.  The  vessel  was  safely  moored  in  the  inner  harbor, 
and  the  sailing-master  was  waiting  to  receive  my  husband's 
orders  on  board. 

Eustace  hesitated  at  asking  me  to  accompany  him  to  the 
yacht.  It  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  examine  the  inven- 
tory of  the  vessel,  and  to  decide  questions,  not  very  interest- 
ing to  a  woman,  relating  to  charts  and  barometers,  provis- 
ions and  water.  He  asked  me  if  I  would  wait  for  his  return. 
The  day  was  enticingly  beautiful,  and  the  tide  was  on  the 
ebb.  I  pleaded  for  a  walk  on  the  sands ;  and  the  landlady 
at  our  lodgings,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  room  at  the  time, 
volunteered  to  accompany  me  and  take  care  of  me.  It  was 
agreed  that  we  should  walk  as  far  as  we  felt  inclined  in  the 
direction  of  Broadstairs,  and  that  Eustace  should  follow  and 
meet  us  on  the  sands,  after  having  completed  his  arrange- 
ments on  board  the  yacht. 

In  half  an  hour  more  the  landlady  and  I  were  out  on  the 
beach. 

The  scene  on  that  fine  autumn  morning  was  nothing  less 
than  enchanting.  The  brisk  breeze,  the  brilliant  sky,  the 
flashing  blue  sea,  the  sun-bright  cliffs  and  the  tawny  sands 
at  their  feet,  the  gliding  procession  of  ships  on  the  great  ma- 
rine highway  of  the  English  Channel — it  was  all  so  exhilarat- 
ing, it  was  all  so  delightful,  that  I  really  believe  if  I  had  been 
by  myself  I  could  have  danced  for  joy  like  a  child.  The  one 
drawback  to  my  happiness  was  the  landlady's  untiring  tongue. 
She  was  a  forward,  good-natured,  empty-headed  woman,  who 
persisted  in  talking,  whether  I  listened  or  not,  and  who  had 
a  habit  of  perpetually  addressing  me  as  "  Mrs.  Woodville," 
which  I  thought  a  little  overfamiliar  as  an  assertion  of  equal- 
ity from  a  person  in  her  position  to  a  person  in  mine. 

We  had  been  out,  I  should  think,  more  than  half  an  hour, 
when  we  overtook  a  lady  walking  before  us  on  the  beach. 

Just  as  we  were  about  to  pass  the  stranger  she  took  her 
handkerchief  from  her  pocket,  and  accidentally  drew  out 
with  it  a  letter,  which  fell  unnoticed  by  her,  on  the  sand. 
B 


26  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

I  was  nearest  to  the  letter,  and  I  picked  it  up  and  offered  it 
to  the  lady. 

The  instant  she  turned  to  thank  me,  I  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot.  There  was  the  original  of  the  photographic  portrait  in 
the  dressing-case  !  there  was  my  husband's  mother,  standing 
face  to  face  with  me !  I  recognized  the  quaint  little  gray 
curls,  the  gentle,  genial  expression,  the  mole  at  the  corner  of 
the  mouth.  No  mistake  was  possible.  His  mother  herself! 

The  old  lady,  naturally  enough,  mistook  my  confusion  for 
shyness.  With  perfect  tact  and  kindness  she  entered  into 
conversation  with  me.  In  another  minute  I  was  walking 
side  by  side  with  the  woman  who  had  sternly  repudiated  me 
as  a  member  of  her  family ;  feeling,  I  own,  terribly  discom- 
posed, and  not  knowing  in  the  least  whether  I  ought  or  ought 
not  to  assume  the  responsibility,  in  my  husband's  absence, 
of  telling  her  who  I  was. 

In  another  minute  my  familiar  landlady,  walking  on  the 
other  side  of  my  mother-in-law,  decided  the  question  for  me. 
I  happened  to  say  that  I  supposed  we  must  by  that  time  be 
near  the  end  of  our  walk — the  little  watering-place  called 
Broadstairs.  "  Oh  no,  Mrs.Woodville  !"  cried  the  irrepress- 
ible woman,  calling  me  by  my  name,  asmsual ;  "  nothing  like 
so  near  as  you  think !" 

I  looked  with  a  beating  heart  at  the  old  lady. 

To  my  unutterable  amazement,  not  the  faintest  gleam  of 
recognition  appeared  in  her  face.  Old  Mrs.Woodville  went 
on  talking  to  young  Mrs.Woodville  just  as  composedly  as  if 
she  had  never  heard  her  own  name  before  in  her  life ! 

My  face  and  manner  must  have  betrayed  something  of  the 
agitation  that  I  was  suffering.  Happening  to^look  at  me  at 
the  end  of  her  next  sentence,  the  old  lady  started,  and  said, 
in  her  kindly  way, 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  overexerted  yourself.  You  are  very 
pale — you  are  looking  quite  exhausted.  Come  and  sit  down 
here ;  let  me  lend  you  my  smelling-bottle." 

I  followed  her,  quite  helplessly,  to  the  base  of  the  cliff. 
Some  fallen  fragments  of  chalk  offered  us  a  seat.  I  vaguely 
heard  the  voluble  landlady's  expressions  of  sympathy  and 
regret;  I  mechanically  took  the  smelling-bottle  which  my 
husband's  mother  offered  to  me,  after  hearing  my  name,  as 
an  act  of  kindness  to  a  stranger. 

If  I  had  only  had  myself  to  think  of,  I  believe  I  should 


TI1K    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  27 

have  provoked  an  explanation  on  the  spot.  But  I  had  Eus- 
tace to  think  of.  I  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  relations, 
hostile  or  friendly,  which  existed  between  his  mother  and 
himself.  What  could  I  do  ? 

In  the  mean  time  the  old  lady  was  still  speaking  to  me 
with  the  most  considerate  sympathy.  She  too  was  fatigued, 
she  said.  She  had  passed  a  weary  night  at  the  bedside  of  a 
near  relative  staying  at  Ramsgate.  Only  the  day  before  she 
had  received  a  telegram  announcing  that  one  of  her  sisters 
was  seriously  ill.  She  was  herself,  thank  God,  still  active  and 
strong,  and  she  had  thought  it  her  duty  to  start  at  once  for 
Ramsgate.  Toward  the  morning  the  state  of  the  patient  had 
improved.  "The  doctor  assures  me,  ma'am, that  there  is  no 
immediate  danger ;  and  I  thought  it  might  revive  me,  after  my 
long  night  at  the  bedside,  if  I  took  a  little  walk  on  the  beach." 

I  heard  the  words — I  understood  what  they  meant — but  I 
was  still  too  bewildered  and  too  intimidated  by  my  extraor- 
dinary position  to  be  able  to  continue  the  conversation.  The 
landlady  had  a  sensible  suggestion  to  make  —  the  landlady 
was  the  next  person  who  spoke. 

"  Here  is  a  gentleman  coming,"  she  said  to  me,  pointing 
in  the  direction  of  Rtfmsgate.  "You  can  never  walk  back. 
Shall  we  ask  him  to  send  a  chaise  from  Broadstairs  to  the 
gap  in  the  cliff?" 

The  gentleman  advanced  a  little  nearer. 

The  landlady  and  I  recognized  him  at  the  same  moment. 
It  was  Eustace  coming  to  meet  us,  as  we  had  arranged.  The 
irrepressible  landlady  gave  the  freest  expression  to  her  feel- 
ings. "  Oh,  Mrs.Woodville,  ain't  it  lucky  ?  here  is  Mr.Wood- 
villc  himself." 

Once  more  I  looked  at  my  mother-in-law.  Once  more  the 
name  failed  to  produce  the  slightest  effect  on  her.  Her  sight 
was  not  so  keen  as  ours  ;  she  had  not  recognized  her  son  yet. 
Jle  had  young  eyes  like  us,  and  he  recognized  his  mother. 
For  a  moment  he  stopped  like  a  man  thunderstruck.  Then 
he  came  on — his  ruddy  face  white  with  suppressed  emotion, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  his  mother. 

"  You  here  !"  he  said  to  her. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Eustace  ?"  she  quietly  rejoined.  "  Have 
you  heard  of  your  aunt's  illness  too  ?  Did  you  know  she  was 
staying  a-t  Ramsgate  ?" 

He  made  no  answer.     The  landlady,  drawing  the  inevit.i- 


28  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

ble  inference  from  the  words  that  she  had  just  heard,  looked 
from  me  to  my  mother-in-law  in  a  state  of  amazement,  which 
paralyzed  even  her  tongue.  I  waited  with  my  eyes  on  my 
husband,  to  see  what  he  would  do.  If  he  had  delayed  ac- 
knowledging me  another  moment,  the  whole  future  course 
of  my  life  might  have  been  altered — I  should  have  despised 
him. 

He  did  not  delay.    He  came  to  my  side  and  took  my  hand. 

"  Do  you  know  who  this  is  ?"  he  said  to  his  mother. 

She  answered,  looking  at  me  with  a  courteous  bend  of  her 
head: 

"  A  lady  I  met  on  the  beach,  Eustace,  who  kindly  restored 
to  me  a  letter  that  I  dropped.  I  think  I  heard  the  name  " 
(she  turned  to  the  landlady) :  "  Mrs.Woodville,  was  it  not  ?" 

My  husband's  fingers  unconsciously  closed  on  my  hand 
with  a  grasp  that  hurt  me.  He  set  his  mother  right,  it  is 
only  just  to  say,  without  one  cowardly  moment  of  hesitation. 

"Mother,"  he  said  to  her,  very  quietly,  "this  lady  is  my 
wife." 

She  had  hitherto  kept  her  seat.  She  now  rose  slowly  and 
faced  her  son  in  silence.  The  first  expression  of  surprise 
passed  from  her  face.  It  was  succeeded  by  the  most  terrible 
look  of  mingled  indignation  and  contempt  that  I  ever  saw  in 
a  woman's  eyes. 

".I  pity  your  wife,"  she  said. 

With  those  words  and  no  more,  lifting  her  hand  she  waved 
him  back  from  her,  and^fvent  OTI  her  way  again,  as  we  had 
first  found  her,  alone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ON    THE    WAY    HOME. 

LEFT  by  ourselves,  there  was  a  moment  of  silence  among 
us.  Eustace  spoke  first. 

"  Are  you  able  to  walk  back  ?"  he  said  to  me.  "  Or  shall 
we  go  on  to  Broadstairs,  and  return  to  Ramsgate  by  the  rail- 
way ?" 

He  put  those  questions  as  composedly,  so  far  as  his  manner 
was  concerned,  as  if  nothing  remarkable  had  happened.  But 
his  eyes  and  his  lips  betrayed  him.  They  told  me  that  he 


THE    LAW   AND  THE   LADY.  29 

was  suffering  keenly  in  secret.  The  extraordinary  scene  that 
had  just  passed,  far  from  depriving  me  of  the  last  remains  of 
my  courage,  had  strung  up  my  nerves  and  restored  my  self- 
possession.  I  must  have  been  more  or  less  than  woman  if 
my  self-respect  had  not  been  wounded,  if  my  curiosity  had 
not  been  wrought  to  the  highest  pitch,  by  the  extraordinary 
conduct  of  my  husband's  mother  when  Eustace  presented  me 
to  her.  What  was  the  secret  of  her  despising  him,  and  pity- 
ing me  ?  Where  was  the  explanation  of  her  incomprehensi- 
ble apathy  when  my  name  was  twice  pronounced  in  her  hear- 
ing ?  Why  had  she  left  us,  as  if  the  bare  idea  of  remaining 
in  our  company  was  abhorrent  to  her?  The  foremost  inter- 
est of  my  life  was  now  the  interest  of  penetrating  these  mys- 
teries. Walk  ?  I  was  in  such  a  fever  of  expectation  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  walked  to  the  world's  end,  if  I 
could  only  keep  my  husband  by  my  side,  and  question  him 
on  the  way. 

"  I  am  quite  recovered,"  I  said.  "  Let  us  go  back,  as  we 
came,  on  foot." 

Eustace  glanced  at  the  landlady.  The  landlady  under- 
stood him. 

"  I  won't  intrude  my  company  on  you,  sir,"  she  said,  sharp- 
ly. "  I  have  some  business  to  do  at  Broadstairs,  and,  now  I 
am  so  near,  I  may  as  well  go  on.  Good-morninc:,  Mrs.Wood- 
ville." 

She  laid  a  marked  emphasis  on  my  name,  and  she  added 
one  significant  look  at  parting,  which  (in  the  preoccupied 
state  of  my  mind  at  that  moment)  I  entirely  failed  to  com- 
prehend. There  was  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  ask  her 
what  she  meant.  With  a  stiff  little  bow,  addressed  to  Eus- 
tace, she  leTt  us  as  his  mother  had  left  us,  taking  the  way  to 
Broadstairs,  and  walking  rapidly. 

At  last  we  were  alone. 

I  lost  no  time  in  beginning  my  inquiries ;  I  wasted  no 
words  in  prefatory  phrases.  In  the  plainest  terms  I  put  the 
question  to  him  : 

"  What  does  your  mother's  conduct  mean  ?" 

Instead  of  answering,  he  burst  inta  a  fit  of  laughter — loud, 
coarse,  hard  laughter,  so  utterly  unlike  any  sound  I  had  ever 
yet  heard  issue  from  his  lips,  so  strangely  and  shockingly  for- 
eign to  his  character  as  /  understood  it,  that  I  stood  still  on 
the  sands,  and  openly  remonstrated  with  him. 


30  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

"Eustace!  you  are  not  like  yourself,"  I  said.  "You  af- 
most  frighten  me." 

He  took  no  notice.  He  seemed  to  be  pursuing  some  pleas- 
ant train  of  thought  just  started  in  his  mind. 

"  So  like  my  mother  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  felt  irresistibly  diverted  by  some  humorous  idea  of  his 
own.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it, Valeria !" 

" Tell  you!"  I  repeated.  "  After  what  has  happened,  sure- 
ly it  is  your  duty  to  enlighten  me." 

"  You  don't  see  the  joke,"  he  said. 

"  I  not  only  fail  to  see  the  joke,"  I  rejoined,  "  I  see  sorne- 
thing.in  your  mother's  language  and  your  mother's  behavior 
which  justifies  me  in  asking  you  for  a  serious  explanation." 

"  My  dear  Valeria,  if  you  understood  my  mother  as  well 
as  I  do,  a  serious  explanation  of  her  conduct  would  be  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  that  you  would  expect  from  me.  The 
idea  of  taking  my  mother  .seriously  !"  He  burst  out  laugh- 
ing again.  "My  darling,  you  don't  know  how  you  amuse 
me." 

It  was  all  forced  ;  it  was  all  unnatural.  He,  the  most  deli- 
cate, the  most  refined  of  men  —  a  gentleman  in  the^highest 
sense  of  the  word — was  coarse  and  loud  and  vulgar !  My 
heart  sank  under  a  sudden  sense  of  misgiving  which,  with  all 
my  love  for  him,  it  was  impossible  to  resist.  In  unutterable 
distress  and  alarm  I  asked  myself,  "  Is  my  husband  begin- 
ning to  deceive  me?  is  he  acting  a  part,  and  acting  it  badly, 
before  we  have  been  married  a  week  ?" 

I  set  myself  to,  win  his  confidence  in  a  new  way.  He  was 
evidently  determined  to  force  his  own  point  of  view  on  me. 
I  determined,  on  my  side,  to  accept  his  point  of  view. 

"You  tell  me  I  don't  understand  your  mother,"  I  said, 
gently.  "  Will  you  help  me  to  understand  her  ?" 

"  It  is  .not  easy  to  help  you  to  understand  a  woman  who 
doesn't  understand  herself,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  will  try. 
The  key  to  my  poor  dear  mother's  character  is,  iu  one  word 
•  — Eccentricity." 

If  he  had  picked  out  the  most  inappropriate  word  in  the 
whole  dictionary  to  describe  the  lady  whom  I  had  met  on 
the  beach,  "  Eccentricity  "  would  have  been  that  word.  A 
child  who  had  seen  what  I  saw,  who  had  heard  what  I  heard, 
would  have  discovered  that  he  was  trifling  —  grossly,  reck- 
lessly trifling — with  the  truth. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  31 

"  Bear  in  mind  what  I  have  said,"  he  proceeded  ;  "  and  if 
you  want  to  understand  my  mother,  do  what  I  asked  you  to 
do  a  minute  since — tell  me  all  about  it.  How  came  you  to 
speak  to  her,  to  begin  with  ?" 

"Your  mother  told  you, Eustace.  I  was  walking  just  be- 
hind her,  when  she  dropped  a  letter  by  accident — " 

"  Xo  accident,"  Ije  interposed.  "  The  letter  was  dropped 
on  purpose." 

"  Impossible  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  Why  should  your  mother 
drop  the  letter  on  purpose?" 

"  Use  the  key  to  her  character,  my  dear.  Eccentricity  ! 
My  mother's  odd  way  of  making  acquaintance  with  you." 

"Making  acquaintance  with  me?  I  have  just  told  you 
that  I  was  walking  behind  her.  She  could  not  have  known 
of  the  existence  of  such  a  person  as  myself  until  I  spoke  to 
her  first." 

"So  you  suppose, Valeria." 

"  I  am  certain  of  it," 

"  Pardon  me — you  don't  know  my  mother  as  I  do." 

I  began  to  lose  a*ll  patience  with  him. 

"Do^you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  said,  "  that  your  mother  was 
out  on  the  sands  to-day  for  the  express  purpose  of  making 
acquaintance  with  Me  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  Slightest  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered,  coolly. 

"  Why,  she  didn't  even  recognize  my  name  !"  I  burst  out. 
"Twice  over  the  landlady  called  me  Mrs.Woodville  in  your 
mother's  hearing,  and  twice  over,  I  declare  to  you  on  my 
word  of  honor,  it  failed  to  produce  the  slightest  impression 
on  her.  She  looked  and  acted  as  if  she  had  never  heard  her 
own  name  before  in  her  life.'i 

"'Acted'  is  the  right  word,"  he  said,  just  as  composedly 
as  before.  "  The  women  on  the  stage  are  not  the  only  wom- 
en who  can  aet.  My  mother's  object  was  to  make  herself 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  you,  and  to  throw  you  oft'  your 
guard  by  speaking  in  the  character  of  a  stranger.  It  is  ex- 
actly like  her  to  take  that  roundabout  way  of  satisfying  her 
curiosity  about  a  daughter-in-law  she  disapproves  of.  If  I 
had  not  joined  you  when  I  did,  you  would  have  been  exam- 
ined and  cross-examined  about  yourself  and  about  me,  and 
you  would  innocently  have  answered  under  the  impression 
that  you  were  speaking  to  a  chance  acquaintance.  There  is 
my  mother  all  over!  She  is  your  enemy,  remember — not 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

your  friend.  She  is  not  in  search  of  your  merits,  but  of  your 
faults.  And  you  wonder  why  no  impression  was  produced 
on  her  when  she  heard  you  addressed  by  your  name  !  Poor 
innocent!  I  can  tell  you  this  —  you  only  discovered  my 
mother  in  her  own  character  when  I  put  an  end  to  the  mys- 
tification by  presenting  you  to  each  other.  You  saw  how 
angry  she  was,  and  now  you  know  why.". 

I  let  him  go  on  without  saying  a  word.  I  listened — oh ! 
with  such  a  heavy  heart,  with  such  a  crushing  sense  of  dis- 
enchantment and  despair !  The  idol  of  my  worship,  the  com- 
panion, guide,  protector  of  my  life  —  had  he  fallen  so  low  ? 
could  he  stoop  to  such  shameless  prevarication  as  this  ? 

"Was  there  one  word  of  truth  in  all  that  he  had  said  to 
me?  Yes!  If  I  had  not  discovered  his  mother's  portrait, 
it  was  certainly  true  that  I  should  not  have  known,  not  even 
have  vaguely  suspected,  who  she  really  was.  Apart  from 
this,  the  rest  was  lying,  clumsy  lying,  which  said  one  thing 
at  least  for  him,  that  he  was  not  accustomed  to  falsehood 
and  deceit.  Good  Heavens !  if  my  husband  was  to  be  be- 
lieved, his  mother  must  have  tracked  us  to  London,  tracked 
us  to  the  church,  tracked  us  to  the  railway  station,  tracked 
us  to  Ramsgate !  To  assert  that  she  knew  me  by  sight  as 
the  wife  of  Eustace,  and  that  she  had  waited  on  the  sands 
and  dropped  her  letter  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  ac- 
quaintance with  me,  was  also  to  assert  every  one  of  these 
monstrous  probabilities  to  be  facts  that  had  actually  hap- 
pened ! 

I  could  say  no  more.  I  walked  by  his  side  in  silence,  feel- 
ing the  miserable  conviction  that  there  was  an  abyss  in  the 
shape  of  a  family  secret  between  my  husband  and  me.  In 
the  spirit,  if  not  in  the  body,  we  were  separated,  after  a  mar- 
ried life  of  barely  four  days. 

"  Valeria,"  he  asked, "  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"Are  you  not  satisfied  with  my  explanation?" 

I  detected  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  put  that  ques- 
tion. The  tone  was,  for  the  first  time  since  we  had  spoken 
together,  a  tone  that  my  experience  associated  with  him  in 
certain  moods  of  his  which  I  had  already  learned  to  know 
well.  Among  the  hundred  thousand  mysterious  influences 
which  a  man  exercises  over  a  woman  who  loves  him,  I  doubt 
if  there  is  any  more  irresistible  to  her  than  the  influence  of 


THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY.  33 

his  voice.  I  am  not  one  of  those  women  who  shed  tears  on 
the  smallest  provocation  :  it  is  not  in  my  temperament,  I  sup- 
pose. But  when  I  heard  that  little  natural  change  in  his 
tone  my  mind  went  back  (I  can't  say  why)  to  the  happy 
day  when  I  first  owned  that  I  loved  him.  I  burst  out  cry- 
ing. 

lie  suddenly  stood  still,  and  took  me  by  the  hand.  He 
tried  to  look  at  me. 

I  kept  my  head  down  and  my  eyes  on  the  ground.  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  weakness  and  my  want  of  spirit.  I  was  de- 
termined not  to  look  at  him. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  he  suddenly  dropped  on  his 
knees  at  my  feet,  with  a  cry  of  despair  that  cut  through  me 
like  a  knife. 

"Valeria!  I  am  vile — I  am  false — f  am  unworthy  of  you. 
Don't  believe  a  word  of  what  I  have  been  saying — lies,  lies, 
cowardly,  contemptible  lies  !  You  don't  know  what  I  have 
gone  through ;  you  don't  know  how  I  have  been  tortured. 
Oh,  my  darling,  try  not  to  despise  me !  I  must  have  been 
beside  myself  when  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did.  You  looked 
hurt;  you  looked  oifended ;  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I 
wanted  to  spare  you  even  a  moment's  pain  —  I  wanted  to 
hush  it  up,  and  have  done  with  it.  For  God's  sake  don't 
ask  me  to  tell  you  any  more !  My  love !  my  angel !  it's 
something  between  my  mother  and  me  ;  it's  nothing  that 
need  disturb  you ;  it's  nothing  to  any  body  now.  I  love  you, 
I  adore  you  ;  my  whole  heart  and  soul  are  yours.  Be  satis- 
fied with  that.  Forget  what  has  happened.  You  shall  never 
see  ray  mother  again.  We  will  leave  this  place  to-morrow. 
We  will  go  away  in  the  yacht.  Does  it  matter  where  we 
live,  so  long  as  we  live  for  each  other  ?  Forgive  and  forget ! 
Oh,Valcria,  Valeria,  forgive  and  forget !" 

Unutterable  misery  was  in  his  face ;  unutterable  misery 
was  in  his  voice.  Remember  this.  And  remember  that  I 
loved  him. 

"It  is  easy  to  forgive,"  I  said,  sadly.  "For  your  sake, 
Eustace,  I  will  try  to  forget." 

I  raised  him  gently  as  I  spoke.  He  kissed  my  hands  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  was  too  humble  to  venture  on  any 
more  familiar  expression  of  his  gratitude  than  that.  The 
sense  of  embarrassment  between  us  as  we  slowly  walked  on 
again  was  so  unendurable  that  I  actually  cast  about  in  my 
B  2 


34  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

mind  for  a  subject  of  conversation,  as  if  I  had  been  in  the 
company  of  a  stranger !  In  mercy  to  him,  I  asked  him  to  tell 
me  about  the  yacht. 

He  seized  on  the  subject  as  a  drowning  man  seizes  on  the 
hand  that  rescues  him. 

On  that  one  poor  little  topic  of  the  yacht  he  talked,  talked, 
talked,  as  if  his  life  depended  upon  his  not  being  silent  for  an 
instant  on  the  rest  of  the  way  back.  To  me  it  was  dreadful 
to  hear  him.  I  could  estimate  what  he  was  suffering  by  the 
violence  which  he — ordinarily  a  silent  and  thoughtful  man — 
was  now  doing  to  his  true  nature,  and  to  the  prejudices  and 
habits  of  his  life.  With  the  greatest  difficulty  I  preserved 
my  self-control  until  we  reached  the  door  of  our  lodgings. 
There  I  was  obliged  to  plead  fatigue,  and  ask  him  to  let  me 
rest  for  a  little  while  in  the  solitude  of  my  own  room. 

"Shall  we  sail  to-morrow?"  he  called  after  me  suddenly, 
as  I  ascended  the  stairs. 

Sail  with  him  to  the  Mediterranean  the  next  day?  Pass 
weeks  and  weeks  absolutely  alone  with  him,  in  the  narrow 
limits  of  a  vessel,  with  his  horrible  secret  parting  us  in  sym- 
pathy farther  and  farther  from  each  other  day  by  day  ?  I 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  it. 

"To-morrow  is  rather  a  short  notice,"  I  said.  "Will  you 
give  me  a  little  longer  time  to  prepare  for  the  voyage  ?" 

"  Oh  yes — take  any  time  you  like,"  he  answered,  not  (as  I 
thought)  very  willingly.  "  While  you  are  resting — there  are 
still  one  or  two  little  things  to  be  settled — I  think  I  will  go 
back  to  the  yacht.  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  Va- 
leria, before  I  go  ?" 

"Nothing — thank  you,  Eustace." 

He  hastened  away  to  the  harbor.  Was  he  afraid  of  his 
own  thoughts,  if  he  were  left  by  himself  in  the  house.  WTas 
the  company  of  the  sailing-master  and  the  steward  better 
than  no  company  at  all? 

It  was  useless  to  ask.  What  did  I  know  about  him  or  his 
thoughts  ?  I  locked  myself  into  my  room. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  35 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  LANDLADY'S  DISCOVERY. 

I  SAT  clown,  and  tried  to  compose  my  spirits.  Now  or  nev- 
er was  the  time  to  decide  what  it  was  my  duty  to  my  hus- 
band and  my  duty  to  myself  to  do  next. 

The  effort  was  beyond  me.  Worn  out  in  mind  and  body 
alike,  I  was  perfectly  incapable  of  pursuing  any  regular  train 
of  thought.  I  vaguely  felt — if  I  left  things  as  they  were — 
that  I  could  never  hope  to  remove  the  shadow  which  now 
rested  on  the  married  life  that  had  begun  so  brightly.  We 
might  live  together,  so  as  to  save  appearances.  But  to  forget 
what  had  happened,  or  to  feel  satisfied  with  my  position,  was 
beyond  the  power  of  my  will.  My  tranquillity  as  a  woman 
— perhaps  my  dearest  interests  as  a  wife — depended  absolute- 
ly on  penetrating  the  mystery  of  my  mother-in-law's  conduct, 
and  on  discovering  the  true -meaning  of  the  wild  words  of  pen- 
itence and  self-reproach  which  my  husband  had  addressed  to 
me  on  our  way  home. 

So  far  I  could  advance  toward  realizing  my  position — and  no 
farther.  When  I  asked  myself  what  was  to  be  done  next,  hope- 
less confusion,  maddening  doubt,  filled  my  mind,  and  trans- 
formed me  into  the  most  listless  and  helpless  of  living  women. 

I  gave  up  the  struggle.  In  dull,  stupid,  obstinate  despair, 
I  threw  myself  on  my  bed,  and  fell  from  sheer  fatigue  into  a 
broken,  uneasy  sleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  knock  at  the  door  of  my  room. 

Was  it  my  husband  ?  I  started  to  my  feet  as  the  idea  oc- 
curred to  me.  Was  some  new  trial  of  my  patience  and  my 
fortitude  at  hand  ?  Half  nervously,  half  irritably,  I  asked 
who  was  there. 

The  landlady's  voice  answered  me. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  if  you  please?" 

I  opened  the  door.  There  is  no  disguising  it — though  I 
loved  him  so  dearly,  though  I  had  left  home  and  friends  for 
his  sake — it  was  a  relief  to  me,  at  that  miserable  time,  to  know 
that  Eustace  had  not  returned  to  the  house. 

The  landlady  came  in,  and  took  a  seat,  without  waiting  to 


3G  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

be  invited,  close  by  my  side.  She  was  no  longer  satisfied 
with  merely  asserting  herself  as  my  equal.  Ascending  an-" 
other  step  on  the  social  ladder,  she  took  her  stand  on  the 
platform  of  patronage,  and  charitably  looked  down  on  me  as 
an  object  of  pity. 

"I  have  just  returned  from  Broadstairs,"  she  began.  "I 
hope  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  sincerely  re- 
gret what  has  happened." 

I  bowed,  and  said  nothing, 

C>  O 

"As  a  gentlewoman  myself,"  proceeded  the  landlady — "  re- 
duced by  family  misfortunes  to  let  lodgings,  but  still  a  gen- 
tlewoman— I  feel  sincere  sympathy  with  you.  I  will  even 
go  farther  than  that.  I  will  take  it  on  myself  to  say  that  I 
don't  blame  you.  No,  no.  I  noticed  that  you  were  as  much 
shocked  and  surprised  at  your  mother-in-law's  conduct  as  I 
was ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal — a  great  deal  indeed. 
However,  I  have  a  duty  to  perform.  It  is  disagreeable,  but 
it  is  not  the  less  a  duty  on  that  account.  I  am  a  single  wom- 
an ;  not  from  want  of  opportunities  of  changing  my  condition 
— I  beg  you  will  understand  that — but  from  choice.  Situa- 
ted as  I  am,  I  receive  only  the  m6"st  respectable  persons  into 
my  house.  There  must  be  no  mystery  about  the  positions 
of  my  lodgersT  Mystery  in  the  position  of  a  lodger  carries 
with  it — what  shall  I  say?  I  don't  wish  to  offend  you — I 
will  say,  a  certain  Taint.  Very  well.  Now  I  put  it  to  your 
own  common-sense.  Can  a  person  in  my  position  be  expect- 
ed to  expose  herself  to — Taint  ?  I  make  these  remarks  in  a 
sisterly  and  Christian  spirit.  As  a  lady  yourself — I  will  even 
go  the  length  of  saying  a  cruelly  used  lady — you  will,  I  am 
sure,  understand — " 

I  could  endure  it  no  longer.     I  stopped  her  there. 

"  I  understand,"  I  said,  "  that  yon  wish  to  give  us  notice  to 
quit  your  lodgings.  When  do  you  want  us  to  go  ?" 

The  landlady  held  up  a  long,  lean,  red  hand,  in  a  somwful 
and  sisterly  protest. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  Not  that  tone ;  not  those  looks.  It's 
natural  you  should  be  annoyed;  it's  natural  you  should  be 
angry.  But  do — now  do  please  try  and  control  yourself.  I 
put  it  to  your  own  common-sense  (we  will  say  a  week  for  the 
notice  to  quit) — why  not  treat  me  like  a  friend  ?  You  don't 
know  what  a  sacrifice,  what  a  cruel  sacrifice,  I  have  made — 
entirely  for  your  sake." 


THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY.  37 

"  You  ?"  I  cxclaimotl.     «  What  sacrifice  ?" 

"What  sacrifice?"  repeated  the  landlady.  "I  have  de- 
graded myself  as  a  gentlewoman.  I  have  forfeited  my  own 
self-respect."  She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  suddenly  seized 
my  hand  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  friendship.  "  Oh,  my  poor 
dear !"  cried  this  intolerable  person.  "  I  have  discovered  ev- 
ery thing.  A  villain  has  deceived  you.  You  are  no  more 
married  than  I  am  !" 

I  snatched  my  hand  out  of  hers,  and  rose  angrily  from  my 
chair. 

"Are  you  mad  ?"  I  asked. 

The  landlady  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling  with  the  air  of 
a  person  who  had  deserved  martyrdom,  and  who  submitted 
to  it  cheerfully. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  begin  to  think  I  am  mad — mad  to 
Lave  devoted  myself  to  an  ungrateful  woman,  to  a  person 
•who  doesn't  appreciate  a  sisterly  and  Christian  sacrifice  of 
self.  Well,  I  won't  do  it  again.  Heaven  forgive  me  —  I 
won't  do  it  again  !" 

"  Do  what  again  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Follow  your  mother-in-law,"  cried  the  landlady,  suddenly 
dropping  the  character  of  a  martyr,  and  assuming  the  charac- 
ter of  a  vixen  in  its  place.  "  I  blush  when  I  think  of  it.  I 
followed  that  most  respectable  person  every  step  of  the  way 
to  her  own  door." 

Tims  far  my  pride  had  held  me  up.  It  sustained  me  no 
longer.  I  dropped  back  again  into  my  chair,  in  undisguised 
dread  of  what  was  coming  next. 

"I  gave  you  a  look  when  I  left  you  on  the"  beach,"  pur- 
sued the  landlady,  growing  louder  and  louder  and  redder  and 
redder  as  she  went  on.  "  A  grateful  woman  would  have  un- 
derstood that  look.  Never  mind  !  I  won't  do  it  again.  I 
overtook  your  mother-in-law  at  the  gap  in  the  cliff.  I  follow- 
ed her — oh,  how  I  feel  the  disgrace  of  it  now  ! — I  followed 
her  to  the  station  at  Broadstairs.  She  went  back  by  train  to 
Ramsgate.  I  went  back  by  train  to  Kamsgate.  She  walked 
to  her  lodgings.  I  walked  to  her  lodgings.  Behind  her. 
Like  a  dog.  Oh,  the  disgrace  of  it !  Providentially,  as  I 
then  thought — I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  it  now — the 
landlord  of  the  house  happened  to  be  a  friend  of  mine,  and 
happened  to  be  at  home.  We  have  no  secrets  from  each 
other  where  lodgers  are  concerned.  I  am  in  a  position  to 


38  THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

tell  you,  madam,  what  your  mother-in-law's  name  really  is. 
She  knows  nothing  about  any  such  person  as  Mrs.  Woodville, 
for  an  excellent  reason.  Her  name  is  not  Woodville.  Her 
name  (and  consequently  her  son's  name)  is  Macallan — Mrs. 
Macallan,  widow  of  the  late  General  Macallan.  Yes !  your 
husband  is  not  your  husband.  You  are  neither  maid,  wife, 
nor  widow.  You  are  worse  than  nothing,  madam,  and  you 
leave  my  house !" 

I  stopped  her  as  she  opened  the  door  to  go  out.  She  had 
roused  my  temper  by  this  time.  The  doubt  that  she  had 
cast  on  my  marriage  was  more  than  mortal  resignation  could 
endure. 

"  Give  me  Mrs.  Macallan's  address,"  I  said. 

The  landlady's  anger  receded  into  the  background,  and 
the  landlady's  astonishment  appeared  in  its  place. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  going  to  the  old  lady 
herself?"  she  said. 

"Nobody  but  the  old  lady  can  tell  me  what  I  want  to 
know,"  I  answered.  "  Your  discovery  (as  you  call  it)  may 
be  enough  for  you ;  it  is  not  enough  for.  me.  How  do  we 
know  that  Mrs.  Macallan  may  not  have  been  twice  married  ? 
and  that  her  first  husband's  name  may  not  have  been  Wood- 
ville?" 

•  The  landlady's  astonishment  subsided  in  its  turn,  and  the 
landlady's  curiosity  succeeded  as  the  ruling  influence  of  the 
moment.  Substantially,  as  I  have  already  -said  of  her,  she 
was  a  good-natured  woman.  Her  fits  of  temper  (as  is  usual 
with  good-natured  people)  were  of  the  hot  and  the  short- 
lived sort,  easily  roused  and  easily  appeased. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said.  "Look  here!  if  I 
give  you  the  address,  will  you  promise  to  tell  me  all  about 
it, when  you  come  back?" 

I  gave  the  required  promise,  and  received  the  address  in 
return. 

"  No  malice,"  said  the  landlady,  suddenly  resuming  all  her 
old  familiarity  with  me. 

"  No  malice,"  I  answered,  with  all  possible  cordiality  on 
my  side. 

In  ten  minutes  more  I  was  at  my 'mother-in-law's  lodgings. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  C9 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MY    OWN    DISCOVERY. 

FORTUNATELY  for  mo,  the  landlord  did  not  open  the  door 
when  I  rang.  A  stupid  maid-of-all-work,  who  never  thought 
of  asking  rue  for  my  name,  let  me  in.  Mrs.  Macallan  was  at 
home,  and  had  no  visitors  with  her.  Giving  me  this  infor- 
mation, the  maid  led  the  way  up  stairs,  and  showed  me  into 
the  drawing-room  without  a  word  of  announcement. 

My  mother-in-law  was  sitting  alone,  near  a  work-tablo, 
knitting.  The  moment  I  appeared  in  the  doorway  she  laid 
aside  her  work,  and,  rising,  signed  to  me  with  a  commanding 
gesture  of  her  hand  to  let  her  speak  first. 

"I  know  what  you  have  come  here  for,"  she  said.  "You 
have  come  here  to  ask  questions.  Spare  yourself  and  spare 
me.  I  warn  you  beforehand  that  I  will  not  answer  any  ques- 
tions relating  to  my  son." 

It  was  firmly,  but  not  harshly  said.  I  spoke  firmly  in  my 
turn. 

"I  have  not  come  here,  madam,  to  ask  questions  about 
your  son,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  come,  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
to  ask  you  a  question  about  yourself." 

She  started,  and  looked  at  me  keenly  over  her  spectacles. 
I  had  evidently  taken  her  by  surprise. 

"What  is  the  question?"  she  inquired. 

,  "I  now  know  for  the  first  time,  madam, that  your  name  is 
Macallan,"  I  said.  "Your  son  has  married  me  under  the 
name  of  Woodvillc.  The  only  honorable  explanation  of  this 
circumstance,  so  far  as  I  know,  is  that  my  husband  is  your 
son  by  a  first  marriage.  The  happiness  of  my  life  is  at  stake. 
Will  you  kindly  consider  my  position  ?  Will  you  let  me 
ask  you  if  you  have  been  twice  married,  and  if  the  name  of 
your  first  husband  was  Woodville?" 

She  considered  a  little  before  she  replied. 

"The  question  is  a  perfectly  natural  one  in  your  position," 
she  said.  "  But  I  think  I  had  better  not  answer  it." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 
*  "Certainly.     If  I  answered  you,  I  should  only  lead  to  oth- 


40  THE   LAW   AND   TIIE   LADY. 

er  questions,  and  I  should  be  obliged  to  decline  replying  to 
them.  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you.  I  repeat  what  I  said 
on  the  beach — I  have  no  other  feeling  than  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy toward  you.  If  you  -had  consulted  me  before  your 
marriage,  I  should  willingly  have  admitted  you  to  my  fullest 
confidence.  It  is  now  too  late.  You  are  married.  I  recom- 
mend you  to  make  the  best  of  your  position,  and  to  rest  sat- 
isfied with  things  as  they  are." 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  I  remonstrated.  "As  things  are, 
I  don't  know  that  I  am  married.  All  I  know,  unless  you  en- 
lighten me,  is  that  your  son  has  married  me  under  a  name 
that  is  not  his  own.  How  can  I  be  sure  whether  I  am  or  am 
not  his  lawful  wife  ?" 

"I  believe  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  you  are  lawfully 
my  son's  wife,"  Mrs.  Macallan  answered.  "At  any  rate  it  is 
easy  to  take  a  legal  opinion  on  the  subject.  It'  the  opinion 
is  that  you  are  not  lawfully  married,  my  son  (whatever  his 
faults  and  failings  may  be)  is  a  gentleman.  He  is  incapable 
of  willfully  deceiving  a  woman  who  loves  and  trusts  him. 
He  will  do  you  justice.  On  my  side,  I  will  do  you  justice  too. 
li  the  legal  opinion  is  adverse  to  your  rightful  claims,  I  will 
promise  to  answer  any  questions  which  you  may  choose  to 
put  to  me.  As  it  is,  I  believe  you  to  be  lawfully  my  son's 
wife ;  and  I  say  again,  make  the  best  of  your  position.  Be 
satisfied  with  your  husband's  affectionate  devotion  to  you. 
If  you  value  your  peace  of  mind  and  the  happiness  of  your 
life  to  come,  abstain  from  attempting  to  know  more  than  you 
know  now." 

She  sat  down  again  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  had  said 
her  last  word. 

Further  remonstrance  would  be  useless ;  I  could  see  it  in 
her  face ;  I  could  hear  it  in  her  voice.  I  turned  round  to 
open  the  drawing-room  door. 

"  You  are  hard  on  me,  madam,"  I  said  at  parting.  "  I  am 
at  your  mercy,  and  I  must  submit." 

She  suddenly  looked  up,  and  answered  me  with  a  flush  on 
her  kind  and  handsome  old  face. 

"As  God  is  my  witness,  child,  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart !" 

After  that  extraordinary  outburst  of  feeling,  she  took  up 
her  work  with  one  hand,  and  signed  to  me  with- the  other  to 
leave  her. 


TIIK    J,AW    AXD   THE    LADY.  41 

I  bowed  to  her  in  silence,  and  went  out. 

I  had  entered  the  house  far  from  feeling  sure  of  the  course 
I  ought  to  take  in  the  future.  I  left  the  house  positively  re- 
solved, come  what  might  of  it,  to  discover  the  secret  which 
the  mother  and  son  were  hiding  from  me.  As  to  the  ques- 
tion of  the  name,  I  saw  it  now  in  the  light  in  which  I  ought 
to  have  seen  it  from  the  first.  If  Mrs.  Macallan  had  been 
twice  married  (as  I  had  rashly  chosen  to  suppose),  she  would 
certainly  have  shown  some  signs  of  recognition  when  she 
heard  me  addressed  by  her  first  husband's  name.  Where  all 
else  was  mystery,  there  was  no  mystery  here.  Whatever 
his  reasons  might  be,  Eustace  had  assuredly  married  me  un- 
der an  assumed  name. 

Approaching  the  door  of  our  lodgings,  I  saw  my  husband 
walking  backward  and  forward  before  it,  evidently  waiting 
for  my  return.  If  he  asked  me  the  question,  I  decided  to  tell 
him  frankly  wrhere  I  had  been,  and  what  had  passed  between 
his  mother  and  myself. 

He  hurried  to  meet  me  with  signs  of  disturbance  in  his  face 
and  manner. 

"I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,Valeria,"  he  said.  " Do  you 
mind  returning  with  me  to  London  by  the  next  train  ?" 

I  looked  at  him.  In  the  popular  phrase,  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve my  own  cars. 

"It's  a  matter  of  business,"  he  went  on,  "of  no  interest  to 
any  one  but  myself,  and  it  requires  my  presence  in  London. 
You  don't  wish  to  sail  just  yet,  as  I  understand?  I  can't 
leave  you  here  by  yourself.  Have  you  any  objection  to  go- 
ing to  London  for  a  day  or  two  ?" 

I  made  no  objection.     I  too  was  eager  to  go  back. 

In  London  I  could  obtain  the  legal  opinion  which  would 
tell  me  whether  I  were  lawfully  married  to  Eustace  or  not.  In 
London  I  should  be  within  reach  of  the  help  and  advice  of 
my  father's  faithful  old  clerk.  I  could  confide  in  Benjamin  as 
I  could  confide  in  no  one  else.  Dearly  as  I  loved  my  uncle 
Starkweather, I  shrank  from  communicating  with  him  in  my 
present  need.  His  wife  had  told  me  that  I  had  made  a  bad 
beginning  when  I  signed  the  wrong  name  in  the  marriage  reg- 
ister. Shall  I  own  it?  My  pride  shrank  from  acknowledg- 
ing, before  the  honeymoon  was  over,  that  his  wife  was  right. 

In  two  hours  more  we  were  on  the  railway  again.     Ah, 


42  THE   LAW   AND   TIIE   LADY. 

what  a  contrast  that  second  journey  presented  to  the  first ! 
On  our  way  to  Ramsgate  every  body  could  see  that  Ave  were 
a  newly  wedded  couple.  On  our  way  to  London  nobody 
noticed  us ;  nobody  would  have  doubted  that  we  had  been 
married  for  years. 

We  went  to  a  private  hotel  in  the  neighborhood  of  Port- 
land Place. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  Eustace  announced  that 
he  must  leave  me  to  attend  to  his  business.  I  had  previous- 
ly mentioned  to  him  that  I  had  some  purchases  to  make  in 
London.  He  was  quite  willing  to  let  me  go  out  alone,  on  the 
condition  that  I  should  take  a  carriage  provided  by  the  hotel. 

My  heart  was  heavy  that  morning  :  I  felt  the  unacknowl- 
edged estrangement  that  had  grown  up  between  us  very 
keenly.  My  husband  opened  the  door  to  go  out,  and  came 
back  to  kiss  me  before  he  left  me  by  myself.  That  little 
after-thought  of  tenderness  touched  me.  Acting  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment,  I  put  my  arm  round  his  neck,  and 
held  him  to  me  gently. 

"  My  darling,"  I  said,  "give  me  all  your  confidence.  I  know 
that  you  love  me.  Show  that  you  can  trust  me  too." 

He  sighed  bitterly,  and  drew  back  from  me — in  sorrow, 
not  in  anger. 

"I  thought  we  had  agreed, Valeria,  not  to  return  to  that 
subject  again,"  he  said.  "  You  only  distress  yourself  and  dis- 
tress me." 

He  left  the  room  abruptly,  as  if  he  dare  not  trust  himself  to 
say  more.  It  is  better  not  to  dwell  on  what  I  felt  after  this 
last  repulse.  I  ordered  the  carriage  at  once.  I  was  eager  to 
find  a  refuge  from  my  own  thoughts  in  movement  and  change. 

I  drove  to  the  shops  first,  and  made  the  purchases  which  I 
had  mentioned  to  Eustace  by  way  of  giving  a  reason  for  go- 
ing out.  Then  I  devoted  myself  to  the  object  which  I  really 
had  at  heart.  I  went  to  old  Benjamin's  little  villa,  in  the 
by-ways  of  St.  John's  "Wood. 

As  soon  as  he  had  got  over  the  first  surprise  of  seeing  me, 
he  noticed  that  I  looked  pale  and  care-worn.  I  confessed  at 
once  that  I  was  in  trouble.  "We  sat  down  together  by  the 
bright  fireside  in  his  little  library  (Benjamin,  as  far  as  his 
means  would  allow,  was  a  great  collector  of  books),  and  there 
I  told  my  old  friend,  frankly  and  truly,  all  that  I  have  told 
here. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  43 

lie  was  too  distressed  to  say  much.  Ho  fervently  pressed 
my  hand  ;  he  fervently  thanked  God  that  my  father  had  not 
lived  to  hear  what  he  had  heard.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 
repeated  my  mother-in-law's  name  to  himself  in  a  doubting, 
questioning  tone. 

"  Macallan  ?"  he  said.  "  Macallan  ?  Where  have  I  heard 
that  name  ?  Why  does  it  sound  as  if  it  wasn't  strange  to  me  ?" 

lie  gave  up  pursuing  the  lost  recollection,  and  asked,  very 
earnestly,  what  he  could  do  for  me.  I  answered  that  he  could 
help  me,  in.  the  first  place,  to  put  an  end  to  the  doubt — an 
unendurable  doubt  to  me — whether  I  were  lawfully  married 
or  not.  His  energy  of  the  old  days  when  he  had  conducted 
my  father's  business  showed  itself  again  the  moment  I  said 
those  words. 

"Your  carriage  is  at  the  door,  my  dear,"  he  answered. 
"  Come  with  me  to  my  own  lawyer,  without  wasting  another 
moment." 

We  drove  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

At  my  request  Benjamin  put  my  case  to  the  lawyer  as  the 
case  of  a  friend  in  whom  I  was  interested.  The  answer  was 
given  without  hesitation.  I  had  married,  honestly  believing 
my  husband's  name  to  be  the  name  under  which  I  had  known 
him.  The  witnesses  to  my  marriage — my  uncle,  my  aunt, 
.and  Benjamin — had  acted,  as  I  had  acted,  in  perfect  good 
faith.  Under  those  circumstances,  there  was  no  doubt  about 
the  law.  I  was  legally  married.  Macallan  or  Woodville,  I 
was  his  wife. 

This  decisive  answer  relieved  me  of  a  heavy  anxiety.  I 
acceptc'd  my  old  friend's  invitation  to  return  with  him  to  St. 
John's  Wood,  and  to  make  my  luncheon  at  his  early  dinner. 

On  our  way  back  I  reverted  to  the  one  other  subject  which 
was  now  uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  reiterated  my  resolution 
to  discover  why  Eustace  had  not  married  me  under  the  name 
that  was  really  his  own. 

My  companion  shook  his  head,  and  entreated  me  to  con- 
sider well  beforehand  what  I  proposed  doing.  His  advice 
to  me — so  strangely  do  extremes  meet ! — was  my  mother-in- 
law's  advice,  repeated  almost  word  for  word.  "  Leave  things 
as  they  are,  my  dear.  In  the  interest  of  your  own  peace  of 
mind  be  satisfied  with  your  husband's  ailection.  You  know 
that  you  arc  his  wife,  and  you  know  that  he  loves  you.  Pure- 
ly that  is  enough?" 


44  THE   LAW    AND   THE   LADY. 

I  had  but  one  answer  to  this.  Life,  on  such  conditions  as 
rny  good  friend  had  just  stated,  would  be  simply  unendurable 
to  me.  Nothing  could  alter  my  resolution — for  this  plain 
reason,  that  nothing  could  reconcile  me  to  living  with  my 
husband  on  the  terms  on  which  we  were  living  now.  It  only 
rested  with  Benjamin  to  say  whether  he  would  give  a  help- 
ing hand  to  his  master's  daughter  or  not. 

The  old  man's  answer  was  thoroughly  characteristic  of 
him. 

"Mention  what  you  want  of  me,  my  dear,"  was  all  he 
said. 

"We  were  then  passing  a  street  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Portman  Square.  I  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  again, 
when  the  words  Avere  suspended  on  my  lips.  I  saw  my  hus- 
band. 

He  was  just  descending  the  steps  of  a  house — as  if  leaving 
it  after  a  visit.  His  eyes  were  on  the  ground :  he  did  not 
look  up  when  the  carriage  passed.  As  the  servant  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  I  noticed  that  the  number  of  the  house 
was  Sixteen.  At  the  next  corner  I  saw  the  name  of  the 
street.  It  was  Vivian  Place. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  who  lives  at  Number  Sixteen 
Vivian  Place  ?"  I  inquired  of  my  companion. 

Benjamin  started.  My  question  was  certainly  a  strange 
one,  after  what  he  had  just  said  to  me. 

"  No,"  he  replied.    "  Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"I  have  just  seen  Eustace  leaving  that  house." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  and  what  of  that  ?" 

"  My  mind  is  in  a  bad  way,  Benjamin.  Every  thing  my 
husband  does  that  I  don't  understand  rouses  iny  suspicion 
now." 

Benjamin  lifted  his  withered  old  hands,  and  let  them  drop 
on  his  knees  again  in  mute  lamentation  over  me. 

"  I  tell  you  again,"  I  went  on,  "  my  life  is  unendurable  to 
me.  I  won't  answer  for  what  I  may  do  if  I  am  left  much 
longer  to  live  in  doubt  of  the  one  man  on  earth  whom  I 
love.  You  have  had  experience  of  the  world.  •  Suppose  you 
were  shut  out  from  Eustace's  confidence,  as  I  am  ?  Suppose 
you  were  as  fond  of  him  as  I  am,  and  felt  your  position  as 
bitterly  as  I  feel  it — what  would  you  do  ?" 

The  question  was  plain.  Benjamin  met  it  with  a  plain 
answer. 


THE    LAW    AND   TIIE    LAI»Y.  45 

"  I  think  I  should  find  my  way,  my  dear,  to  some  intimate 
friend  of  your  husband's,"  he  said,  "  and  make  a  few  discreet 
inquiries  in  that  quarter  first." 

Some  intimate  friend  of  my  husband's  ?  I  considered  with 
myself.  There  was  but  one  friend  of  his  whom  I  knew  of — 
my  uncle's  correspondent,  Major  Fitz-David.  My  heart  beat 
fast  as  the  name  recurred  to  my  memory.  Suppose  I  fol- 
lowed Benjamin's  advice  ?  Suppose  I  applied  to  Major  Fitz- 
David  ?  Even  if  he,  too,  refused  to  answer  my  questions, 
my  position  would  not  be  more  helpless  than  it  was  no\v. 
I  determined  to  make  the  attempt.  The  only  difficulty  in 
the  way,  so  far,  was  to  discover  the  Major's  address.  I  had 
given  back  his  letter  to  Doctor  Starkweather,  at  my  uncle's 
own  request.  I  remembered  that  the  address  from  which 
the  Major  wrote  was  somewhere  in  London — and  I  remem- 
bered no  more. 

"Thank  you,  old  friend;  you  have  given  me  an  idea  al- 
ready," I  said  to  Benjamin.  "  Have  you  got  a  Directory  in 
your  house  ?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  he  rejoined,  looking  very  much  puzzled. 
"But  I  can  easily  send  out  and  borrow  one." 

"NVe  returned  to  the  villa.  The  servant  was  sent  at  once 
to  the  nearest  stationer's  to  borrow  a  Directory.  She  re- 
turned with  the  book  just  as  we  sat  down  to  dinner.  Search- 
ing for  the  Major's  name  under  the  letter  F,  I  was  startled 
by  a  new  discovery. 

"Benjamin!"  I  said.  "This  is  a  strange  coincidence. 
Look  here !" 

He  looked  where  I  pointed.  Major  Fitz-David's  address 
was  Number  Sixteen  Vivian  Place — the  very  house  which  I 
had  seen  my  husband  leaving  as  we  passed  in  the  carriage ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OX  THE   WAY   TO   THE    MAJOR. 

"YES,"  said  Benjamin.  "It  is  a  coincidence  certainly. 
Still—" 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  me.  lie  seemed  a  little  doubt- 
ful how  J  might  receive  what  he  had  it  in  his  mind  to  say 
to  me  next. 


48  THE    LAW    AND   TUB    LADY. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  Still,  my  dear,  I  see  nothing  suspicious  in  what  has  hap- 
pened," he  resumed.  "  To  my  mind  it  is  quite  natural  that 
your  husband,  being  in  London,  should  pay  a  visit  to  one  of 
his  friends.  And  it's  equally  natural  that  -sve  should  pass 
through  Vivian  Place  on  "our  way  back  here.  This  seems 
to  be  the  reasonable  view.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  have  told  you  already  that  my  mind  is  in  a  bad  way 
about  Eustace,"  I  answered,  "/"say  there  is  some  motive 
at  the  bottom  of  his  visit  to  Major  Fitz-David.  It  is  not  an 
ordinary  call.  I  am  firmly  convinced  it  is  not  an  ordinary 
call!" 

"Suppose  we  get  on  with  our  dinner?"  said  Benjamin,  re- 
signedly. "Here  is  a  loin  of  mutton,  my  dear — an  ordinary 
loin  of  mutton.  Is  there  any  thing  suspicious  in  that  ?  Very 
well,  then.  Show  me  you  have  confidence  in  the  mutton ; 
please  eat.  There's  the  wine,  again.  Xo  mystery, Valeria,  in 
that  claret — I'll  take  my  oath  it's  nothing  but  innocent  juice 
of  the  grape.  If  w-e  can't  believe  in  any  thing  else,  let's 
believe  in  juice  of  the  grape.  Your  good  health,  my  dear." 

I  adapted  myself  to  the  old  man's  genial  humor  as  readily 
as  I  could.  We  ate  and  we  drank,  and  we  talked  of  by-gone 
days.  For  a  little  while  I  was  almost  happy  in  the  com- 
pany of  my  fatherly  old  friend.  W"hy  was  I  not  old  too  ? 
Why  had  I  not  done  with  love,  with  its  certain  miseries,  its 
transient  delights,  its  cruel  losses,  its  bitterly  doubtful  gains  ? 
The  last  autumn  flowers  in  the  window  basked  brightly  in 
the  last  of  the  autumn  sunlight.  Benjamin's  little  dog  di- 
gested his  dinner  in  perfect  comfort  on  the  hearth.  The  par- 
rot in  the  next  house  screeched  his  vocal  accomplishments 
cheerfully.  I  don't  doubt  that  it  is  a  great  privilege  to  be 
a  human  being.  But  may  it  not  be  the  happier  destiny  to 
be  an  animal  or  a  plant? 

The  brief  respite  was  soon  over;  all  my  anxieties  came 
back.  I  was  once  more  a  doubting,  discontented,  depressed 
creature  when  I  rose  to  say  good-by. 

"Promise,  my  dear,  you  will  do  nothing  rash,"  said  Ben- 
jamin, as  he  opened  the  door  for  me. 

"Is  it  rash  to  go  to  Major  Fitz-David?"  I  asked. 

"Yes — if  you  go  by  yourself.  You  don't  know  Avhat  sort 
of  man  he  is;  you  don't  know  how  he  may  receive  you.  Let 
me  try  first,  and  pave  the  way,  as  the  saying  is.  Trust  my 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  .  47 

experience,  my  dear.  In  matters  of  this  sort  there  is  noth- 
ing like  paving  the  way." 

I  considered  a  moment.  It  was  due  to  my  good  friend  to 
consider  before  I  said  No. 

Keflection  decided  me  on  taking  the  responsibility,  what- 
ever it  might  be,  upon  my  own  shoulders.  Good  or  bad, 
C,  compassionate  or  cruel,  the  Major  was  a  man.  A  woman's 
influence  was  the  safest  influence  to  trust  with  him,  where 
the  end  to  be  gained  was  such  an  end  as  I  had  in  view.  It 
was  not  easy  to  say  this  to  Benjamin  without  the  danger  of 
mortifying  him.  I  made  an  appointment  with  the  old  man 
to  call  on  me  the  next  morning  at  the  hotel,  and  talk  the 
matter  over  again.  Is  it  very  disgraceful  to  me  to  add  that 
I  privately  determined  (if  the  thing  could  be  accomplished) 
to  see  Major  Fitz-David  in  the  interval? 

"Do  npthing  rash,  my  dear.  In  your  own  interests,  do 
nothing  rash  !" 

Those  were  Benjamin's  last  words  when  we  parted  for  the 
day. 

I  found  Eustace  waiting  for  me  in  our  sitting-room  at  the 
hotel.  His  spirits  seemed  to  have  revived  since  I  had  seen 
him  last.  He  advanced  to  meet  me  cheerfully,  with  an  open 
sheet  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"My  business  is  settled,  Valeria,  sooner  than  I  had  ex- 
pected," he  began,  gayly.  "Are  your  purchases  all  com- 
pleted, fair  lady  ?  Are  you  free  too  ?" 

I  had  learned  already  (God  help  me !)  to  distrust  his  fits 
of  gayety.  I  asked,  cautiously, 

"  Do  you  mean  free  for  to-day  ?" 

"Free  for  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  and  next  week,  and  next 
month — and  next  year  too,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary," 
he  answered,  putting  his  arm  boisterously  round  my  waist. 
"  Look  here !" 

He  lifted  the  open  sheet  of  paper  which  I  had  noticed  in 
his  hand,  and  held  it  for  me  to  read.  It  was  a  telegram  to 
the  sailing-master  of  the  yacht,  informing  him  that  we  had 
arranged  to  return  to  Ramsgate  that  evening,  and  that  we 
should  be  ready  to  sail  for  the  Mediterranean  with  the  next 
tide. 

"I  only  waited  for  your  return,"  said  Eustace",  "  to  send 
the  telegram  to  the  office." 


48  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

He  crossed  the  room  as  he  spoke  to  ring  the  bell.  I  stop- 
ped him." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  go  to  Ramsgate  to-day,"  I  said. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  and 
speaking  sharply. 

I  dare  say  it  will  seem  ridiculous  to  some  people,  but  it  is 
really  true  that  he  shook  my  resolution  to  go  to  Major  Fitz- 
David  when  he  put  his  arm  round  me.  Even  a  mere  passing 
caress  from  him  stole  away  my  heart,  and  softly  tempted  me 
to  yield.  But  the  ominous  alteration  in  his  tone  made  an- 
other woman  of  me..  I  felt  once  more,  and  felt  more  strong- 
ly than  ever,  that  in  my  critical  position  it  was  useless  to 
stand  still,  and  worse  than  useless  to  draw  back. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,"  I  answered.  "  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  (as  I  told  you  at  Ramsgate)  to  be  ready  to 
sail  at  a  moment's  notice.  I  want  time." 

"  What  for  ?" 

Not  only  his  tone,  but  his  look,  when  he  put  that  second 
question,  jarred  on  every  nerve  in  me.  He  roused  in  my 
mind — I  can't  tell  how  or  why — an  angry  sense  of  the  indig- 
nity that  he  had  put  upon  his  wife  in  marrying  her  under 
a  false  name.  Fearing  that  I  should  answer  rashly,  that  I 
shoulcj  say  something  which  my  better  sense  might  regret, 
if  I  spoke  at  that  moment,  I  said  nothing.  Women  alone  can 
estimate  what  it  cost  me  to  be  silent.  And  men  alone  can 
understand  how  irritating  my  silence  must  have  been  to  my 
husband. 

"You  want  time  ?"  he  repeated.  "  I  ask  you  again — what 
for  ?" 

My  self-control,  pushed  to  its  extremest  limits,  failed  me. 
The  rash  reply  flew  out  of  my  lips,  like  a  bird  set  free  from 
a  cage. 

"  I  want  time,"  I  said,  "  to  accustom  myself  to  my  right 
name." 

He  suddenly  stepped  up  to  me  with  a  dark  look. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  '  right  name  ?'  " 

"  Surely  you  know,"  I  answered.  "  I  once  thought  I  was 
Mrs.Woodville.  I  have  now  discovered  that  I  am  Mrs.  Mac- 
allan." 

He  started  back  at  the  sound  of  his  own  name  as  if  I  had 
struck  him — he  started  back,  and  turned  so  deadly  pale  that 
I  feared  he  was  going  to  drop  at  my  feet  in  a  swoon.  Oh, 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  49 

ray  tongue  !  my  tongue  !  Why  had  I  not  controlled  my 
miserable,  mischievous  woman's  tongue  ! 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  alarm  you,  Eustace,"  I  said.  "  I  spoke 
at  random.  Pray  forgive  me." 

He  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  as  if  my  penitent  words 
were  tangible  things — ruffling,  worrying  things,  like  flies  in 
summer — which  he  was  putting  away  from  him. 

"  What  else  have  you  discovered  ?"  he  asked,  in  low,  stern 
tones. 

"  Nothing,  Eustace." 

"Nothing?"  He  paused  as  he  repeated  the  word,  and 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  in  a  weary  way.  "  Noth- 
ing, of  course,"  he  resumed,  speaking  to  himself,  "  or  she 
would  not  be  here."  He  paused  once  more,  and  looked  at 
me  searchingly.  "  Don't  say  again  what  you  said  just  now," 
he  went  on.  "  For  your  own  sake,  Valeria,  as  well  as  for 
mine."  He  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  said  no 
more. 

I  certainly  heard  the  warning ;  but  the  only  words  which 
really  produced  an  impression  on  my  mind  were  the  words 
preceding  it,  which  he  had  spoken  to  himself.  He  had  said  : 
"  Nothing,  of  course,  or  she  would  not  be  here."  If  I  had 
found  out  some  other  truth  besides  the  truth  about  the 
name,  would  it  have  prevented  me  from  ever  returning  to 
my  husband  ?  Was  that  what  he  meant  ?  Did  the  sort  of 
discovery  that  he  contemplated  mean  something  so  dreadful 
that  it  would  have  parted  us  at  once  and  forever  ?  I  stood 
by  his  chair  in  silence,  and  tried  to  find  the  answer  to  those 
terrible  questions  in  his  face.  It  used  to  speak  to  me  so  elo- 
quently when  it  spoke  of  his  love.  It  told  me  nothing  now. 

He  sat  for  some  time  without  looking  at  me,  lost  in  his 
own  thoughts.  Then  he  rose  on  a  sudden  and  took  his  hat. 

"  The  friend  who  lent  me  the  yacht  is  in  town,"  he  said. 
"  I  suppose  I  had  better  see  him,  and  say  our  plans  are 
changed."  He  tore  up  the  telegram  with  an  air  of  sullen 
resignation  as  he  spoke.  "  You  are  evidently  determined 
not  to  go  to  sea  with  me,"  he  resumed.  "We  had  better 
give  it  up.  I  don't  see  what  else  is  to  be  done.  Do  you  ?" 

His  tone  -\vas  almost  a  tone  of  contempt.  I  was  too  de- 
pressed about  myself,  too  alarmed  about  him,  to  resent  it. 

"Decide  as  you  think  best,  Eustace,"  I  said,  sadly.  "  Kvory 
\s  ay,  l lie  prospect  seems  a  hopeless  one.  As  long  as  I  am 
0- 


50  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

shut  out  from  your  confidence,  it  matters  little  whether  we 
live  on  land  or  at  sea — we  can  not  live  happily." 

"  If  you  could  control  your  curiosity,"  he  answered,  stern- 
ly, "  we  might  live  happily  enough.  I  thought  I  had  mar- 
ried a  woman  who  was  superior  to  the  vulgar  failings  of  her 
sex.  A  good  wife  should  know  better  than  to  pry  into  af- 
fairs of  her  husband's  with  which  she  had  no  concern." 

Surely  it  was  hard  to  bear  this  ?    However,  I  bore  it. 

"Is  it  no  concern  of  mine  ?"  I  asked,  gently,  "  when  I  find 
that  my  husband  has  not  married  me  under  his  family  name  ? 
Is  it  no  concern  of  mine  when  I  hear  your  mother  say,  in  so 
many  words,  that  she  pities  your  wife  ?  It  is  hard,  Eustace, 
to  accuse  me  of  curiosity  because  I  can  not  accept  the  unen- 
durable position  in  which  you  have  placed  me.  Your  cruel 
silence  is  a  blight  on  my  happiness,  and  a  threat  to  my  fut- 
ure. Your  cruel  silence  is  estranging  us  from  each  other  at 
the  beginning  of  our  married  life.  And  you  blame  me  for 
feeling  this  ?  You  tell  me  I  am  prying  into  affairs  which  are 
yours  only  ?  They  are  not  yours  only  :  I  have  my  interest 
in  them  too.  Oh,  my  darling,  why  do  you  trifle  with  our 
love  and  our  confidence  in  each  other  ?  Why  do  you  keep 
me  in  the  dark  ?" 

He  answered  with  a  stern  and  pitiless  brevity, 

"  For  your  own  good." 

I  turned  away  from  him  in  silence.  He  was  treating  me 
like  a  child. 

He  followed  me.  Putting  one  hand  heavily  on  my  shoul- 
der, he  forced  me  to  face  him  once  more. 

"  Listen  to  this,"  he  said.  "  What  I  am  now  going  to  say 
to  you  I  say  for  the  first  and  last  time.  Valeria  !  if  you  ever 
discover  what  I  am  now  keeping  from  your  knowledge — from 
that  moment  you  live  a  life  of  torture;  your  tranquillity  is 
gone.  Your  days  will  be  days  of  terror ;  your  nights  will 
be  full  of  horrid  dreams  —  through  no  fault  of  mine,  mind  ! 
through  no  fault  of  mine  !  Every  day  of  your  life  you  will 
feel  some  new  distrust,  some  growing  fear  of  me,  and  you 
will  be  doing  me  the  vilest  injustice  all  the  time.  On  my 
faith  as  a  Christian,  on  my  honor  as  a  man,  if  you  stir  a  step 
further  in  this  matter,  there  is  an  end  to  your  happiness  for 
the  rest  of  your  life !  Think  seriously  of  what  I  have  said  to 
you ;  you  will  have  time  to  reflect.  I  am  going  to  tell  my 
friend  that  our  plans  for  the  Mediterranean  are  given  np.  I 


THE    LAW    AND    TIJK    LADY.  51 

shall  not  be  back  before  the  evening."  He  sighed,  and  look- 
ed at  me  with  unutterable  sadness.  "I  love  you, Valeria," 
he  said.  "  In  spite  of  all  that  has  passed,  as  God  is  my  wit- 
ness, I  love  you  more  dearly  than  ever."  - 

So  he  spoke.     So  he  left  me. 

I  must  write  the  truth  about  myself,  however  strange  it 
may  appear.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  able  to  analyze  my  own 
motives ;  I  don't  pretend  even  to  guess  how  other  women 
might  have  acted  in  my  place.  It  is  true  of  me,  that  my  hus- 
band's terrible  warning — all  the  more  terrible  in  its  mystery 
and  its  vagueness — produced  no  deterrent  effect  on  my  mind : 
it  only  stimulated  my  resolution  to  discover  what  he  was 
hiding  from  me.  He  had  not  been  gone  two  minutes  before 
I  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  carriage,  to  take  me  to  Major 
Fitz-David's  house  in  Vivian  Place. 

Walking  to  and  fro  while  I  was  waiting — I  was  in  such  a 
fever  of  excitement  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  sit  still 
— I  accidentally  caught  sight  of  myself  in  the  glass. 

My  own  face  startled  me,  it  looked  so  haggard  and  so 
wild.  Could  I  present  myself  to  a  stranger,  could  I  hope  to 
produce  the  necessary  impression  in  my  favor,  looking  as  I 
looked  at  that  moment  ?  For  all  I  knew  to  the  contrary,  my 
whole  future  might  depend  upon  the  effect  which  I  produced 
on  Major  Fitz-David  at  first  sight.  I  rang  the  bell  again, 
and  sent  a  message  to  one  of  the  chambermaids  to  follow 
me  to  my  room. 

I  had  no  maid  of  my  own  with  me  :  the  stewardess  of  the 
yacht  would  have  acted  as  my  attendant  if  we  had  held  to 
our  first  arrangement.  It  mattered  little,  so  long  as  I  had 
a  woman  to  help  me.  The  chambermaid  appeared.  I  can 
give  no  better  idea  of  the  disordered  and  desperate  condi- 
tion of  my  mind  at  that  time  than  by  owning  that  I  actu- 
ally consulted  this  perfect  stranger  on  the  question  of  my 
personal  appearance.  She  was  a  middle-aged  woman,  with 
a  large  experience  of  the  world  and  its  wickedness  written 
legibly  on  her  manner  and  on  her  face.  I  put  money  into 
the  woman's  hand,  enough  of  it  to  surprise  her.  She  thanked 
me  with  a  cynical  smile,  evidently  placing  her  own  evil  in- 
terpretation on  my  motive  for  bribing  her. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  ma'am  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  confi- 
dential whisper.  "Don't  speak  loud  !  there  is  somebody  in 
the  next  room." 


52  THE   LAW   AXD   THE   LADY. 

"  I  want  to  look  my  best,"  I  said,  "  and  I  have  sent  for 
you  to  help  me." 

"  I  understand,  ma'am." 

"  What  do  you  understand  ?" 

She  nodded  her  head  significantly,  and  whispered  to  me 
again.  "  Lord  bless  you,  I'm  used  to  this !"  she  said.  "  There 
is  a  gentleman  in  the  case.  Don't  mind  me,  ma'am.  It's  a 
way  I  have.  I  mean  no  harm."  She  stopped,  and  looked  at 
me  critically.  "  I  wouldn't  change  my  dress  if  I  were  you," 
she  went  on.  "The  color  becomes  you." 

It  was  too  late  to  resent  the  woman's  impertinence.  There 
was  no  help  for  it  but  to  make  use  of  her.  Besides,  she  was 
right  about  the  dress.  It  was  of  a  delicate  maize-color,  pret- 
tily trimmed  with  lace.  I  could  wear  nothing  which  suited 
me  better.  My  hair,  however,  stood  in  need  of  some  skilled 
attention.  The  chambermaid  rearranged  it  with  a  ready 
hand  which  showed  that  she  was  no  beginner  in  the  art  of 
dressing  hair.  She  laid  down  the  combs  and  brushes,  and 
looked  at  me  ;  then  looked  at  the  toilet-table,  searching  for 
something  which  she  apparently  failed  to  find. 

"  Where  do  you  keep  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Look  at  your  complexion,  ma'am.  You  will  frighten  him 
if  he  sees  you  like  that.  A  touch  of  color  you  must  have. 
Where  do  you  keep  it  ?  What !  you  haven't  got  it  ?  you 
never  use  it  ?  Dear,  dear,  dear  me !" 

For  a  moment  surprise  fairly  deprived  her  of  her  self-pos- 
session. Recovering  herself,  she  begged  permission  to  leave 
me  for  a  minute.  I  let  her  go,  knowing  what  her  errand  was. 
She  came  back  with  a  box  of  paint  and  powders;  and  I  said 
nothing  to  check  her.  I  saw,  in  the  glass,  my  skin  take  a 
false  fairness,  my  cheeks  a  false  color,  my  eyes  a  false  bright- 
ness— and  I  never  shrank  from  it.  No !  I  let  the  odious  con- 
ceit go  on ;  I  even  admired  the  extraordinary  delicacy  and . 
dexterity  with  which  it  was  all  done.  "Any  thing"  (I 
thought  to  myself,  in  the  madness  of  that  miserable  time), 
"so  long  as  it  helps  me  to  win  the  Major's  confidence !  Any 
thing,  so  long  as  I  discover  what  those  last  words  of  my  hus- 
band's really  mean !" 

The  transformation  of  my  face  was  accomplished.  The 
chambermaid  pointed  with  her  wicked  forefinger  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  glass. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  53 

"Bear  in  mind,  ma'am,  what  you  looked  like  when  you 
sent  for  me,"  she  said.  "And  just  see  for  yourself  how  you 
look  now.  You're  the  prettiest  woman  (of  your  style)  in 
London.  Ah,  what  a  thing  pearl-powder  i?,  when  one  knows 
how  to  use  it !" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    FKIEND    OF   THE    WOMEX. 

I  FIND  it  impossible  to  describe  my  sensations  while  the 
carnage  was  taking  me  to  Major  Fitz-David's  house.  I 
doubt,  indeed,  if  I  really  felt  or  thought  at  all,  in  the  true 
sense  of  those  words. 

From  the  moment  when  I  had  resigned  myself  into  the 
hands  of  the  chambermaid  I  seemed  in  some  strange  way  to 
have  lost  my  ordinary  identity — to  have  stepped  out  of  my 
own  character.  At  other  times  my  temperament  was  of  the 
nervous  and  anxious  sort,  and  my  tendency  was  to  exagger- 
ate any  difficulties  that  might  place  themselves  in  my  way. 
At  other  times,  having  before  me  the  prospect  of  a  critical 
interview  with  a  stranger,!  should  have  considered  with  my- 
self what  it  might  be  wise  to  pass  over,  and  what  it  might 
be  wise  to  say.  Now  I  never  gave  my  coming  interview 
with  the  major  a  thought;  I  felt  an  unreasoning  confidence 
in  mvself,  and  a  blind  faith  in  him.  Xow  neither  the  past 
nor  the  future  troubled  me ;  I  lived  unreflectingly  in  the 
present.  I  looked  at  the  shops  as  we  drove  by  them,  and 
at  the  other  carriages  as  they  passed  mine.  I  noticed — yes, 
and  enjoyed — the  glances  of  admiration  which  chance  foot- 
passengers  on  the  pavement  cast  on  me.  I  said  to  myself, 
"This  looks  well  for  my  prospect  of  making  a  friend  of  the 
Major!"  When  we  drew  up  at  the  door  in  Vivian  Place,  it 
is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  I  had  but  one  anxiety — anx- 
iety to  find  the  Major  at  home. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  servant  out  of  livery,  an  old  man 
who  looked  as  if  he  might  have  been  a  soldier  in  his  earlier 
<l:iy>.  He  eyed  me  with  a  grave  attention, which  relaxed  little 
by  little  into  sly  approval.  I  asked  for  Major  Fitz-David. 
The  answer  was  not  altogether  encouraging:  the  man  was 
nut  sure  whether  his  master  were  at  home  or  not. 


54  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

I  gave  him  my  card.  My  cards,  being  part  of  my  wedding 
outfit,  necessarily  had  the  false  name  printed  on  them — J/?x 
Eustace  Woodville.  The  servant  showed  me  into  a  front  room 
on  the  ground-floor,  and  disappeared  with  my  card  in  his  hand. 

Looking  about  me,  I  noticed  a  door  in  the  wall  opposite 
the  window,  communicating  with  some  inner  room.  The 
door  was  not  of  the  ordinary  kind.  It  fitted  into  the  thick- 
ness of  the  partition  wall,  and  worked  in  grooves.  Looking 
a  little  nearer,  I  saw  that  it  had  not  been  pulled  out  so  as 
completely  to  close  the  doorway.  Only  the  merest  chink 
was  left ;  but  it  was  enough  to  convey  to  my  ears  all  that 
passed  in  the  next  room. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Oliver,  when  she  asked  for  me  ?"  in- 
quired a  man's  voice,  pitched  cautiously  in  a  low  key. 

"I  said  I  was  not  sure  you  were  at  home,  sir,"  answered 
the  voice  of  the  servant  who  had  let  me  in. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  first  speaker  was  evidently  Major 
Fitz-David  himself.  I  waited  to  hear  more. 

"I  think  I  had  better  not  see  her,  Oliver,"  the  Major's 
voice  resumed. 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  Say  I  have  gone  out,  and  you  don't  know  when  I  shall 
be  back  again.  Beg  the  lady  to  write,  if  she  has  any  busi- 
ness with  me." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Stop,  Oliver !" 

Oliver  stopped.  There  was  another  and  longer  pause. 
Then  the  master  resumed  the  examination  of  the  man. 

"Is  she  young,  Oliver?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And— pretty  ?" 

"Better  than  pretty,  sir,  to  my  thinking." 

"Aye?  aye?    What  you  call  a  fine  woman — eh,  Oliver?" 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"Tall?" 

"  Nearly  as  tall  as  I  am,  Major." 

"  Aye  ?  aye  ?  aye  ?  .  A  good  figure  ?" 

"  As  slim  as  a  sapling,  sir,  and  as  upright  as  a  dart." 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  am  at  home,  Oliver.  Show  her 
in  !  show  her  in !" 

So  far,  one  thing  at  least  seemed  to  be  clear.  I  had  done 
well  in  sending  for  the  chambermaid.  What  would  Oliver's 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  55 

report  of  me  have  been  if  I  had  presented  myself  to  him  with 
my  colorless  cheeks  and  my  ill-dressed  hair? 

The  servant  reappeared,  and  conducted  me  to  the  inner 
room.  Major  Fitz-David  advanced  to  welcome  me.  What 
was  the  Major  like  ? 

Well,  he  was  like  a  well-preserved  old  gentleman  of,  say, 
sixty  years  old,  little  and  lean,  and  chiefly  remarkable  by  the 
extraordinary  length  of  his  nose.  After  this  feature,  I  noticed 
next  his  beautiful  brown  wig;  his  sparkling  little  gray  eyes; 
his  rosy  complexion;  his  short  military  whisker,  dyed  to 
match  his  wig;  his  white  teeth  and  his  winning  smile;  his 
smart  blue  frock'-coat,  with  a  camellia  in  the  button-hole ; 
and  his  splendid  ring,  a  ruby,  flashing  on  his  little  finger  as 
he  courteously  signed  to  me  to  take  a  chair. 

"Dear  Mrs. Woodville,  how  very  kind  of  you  this  is!  I 
have  been  longing  to  have  the  happiness  of  knowing  you. 
Eustace  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  congratulated  him  when 
I  heard  of  his  marriage.  May  I  make  a  confession  ? — I  envy 
him  now  I  have  seen  his  wife." 

The  future  of  my  life  was  perhaps  in  this  man's  hands.  I 
studied  him  attentively ;  I  tried  to  read  his  character  in  his 
face. 

The  Major's  sparkling  little  gray  eyes  softened  as  they 
looked  at  me ;  the  Major's  strong  and  sturdy  voice  dropped 
to  its  lowest  and  tenderest  tones  when  he  spoke  to  me ;  the 
Major's  manner  expressed,  from  the  moment  when  I  entered 
the  room,  a  happy  mixture  of  admiration  and  respect.  He 
drew  his  chair  close  to  mine,  as  if  it  were  a  privilege  to  be 
near  me.  He  took  my  hand  and  lifted  my  glove  to  his  lips, 
as  if  that  glove  were  the  most  delicious  luxury  the  world 
could  produce.  "  Dear  Mrs. Woodville,"  he  said,  as  he  softly 
laid  my  hand  back  on  my  lap,  "  bear  with  an  old  fellow  who 
worships  your  enchanting  sex.  You  really  brighten  this 
dull  house.  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  see  you !" 

There  was  no  need  for  the  old  gentleman  to  make  his  little 
confession.  Women,  children,  and  dogs  proverbially  know 
by  instinct  who  the  people  are  who  really  like  them.  The 
women  had  a  warm  friend — perhaps  at  one  time  a  danger- 
ously warm  friend — in  Major  Fitz-David.  I  knew  as  much 
of  him  as  that  before  I  had  settled  myself  in  my  chair  and 
opened  my  lips  to  answer  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Major,  for  your  kind  reception  and  your 


56  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

pretty  compliment,"  I  said,  matching  my  host's  easy  tone  as 
closely  as  the  necessary  restraints  on  my  side  would  permit. 
"  You  have  made  your  confession.  May  I  make  mine  ?" 

Major  Fitz-David  lifted  my  hand  again  from  my  lap  and 
drew  his  chair  as  close  as  possible  to  mine.  I  looked  at  him 
gravely  and  tried  to  release  my  hand.  Major  Fitz-David 
declined  to  let  go  of  it,  and  proceeded  to  tell  me  why. 

"I  have  just  heard  you  speak  for  the  first  time,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  under  the  charm  of  your  voice.  Dear  Mrs.  Woodville, 
bear  with  an  old  fellow  who  is  under  the  charm  !  Don't 
grudge  me  my  innocent  little  pleasures.  Lend  me — I  wish  I 
could  say  give  me — this  pretty  hand.  I  am  such  an  admirer 
of  pretty  hands  !  I  can  listen  so  much  better  with  a  pretty 
hand  in  mine.  The  ladies  indulge  my  weakness.  Please 
indulge  me  too.  Yes?  And  what  were  you  going  to  say?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  Major,  that  I  felt  particularly  sensible 
of  your  kind  welcome  because,  as  it  happens,  I  have  a  favor 
to  ask  of  you." 

I  was  conscious,  while  I  spoke,  that  I  was  approaching  the 
object  of  my  visit  a  little  too  abruptly.  But  Major  Fitz- 
David's  admiration  rose  from  one  climax  to  another  with 
such  alarming  rapidity  that  I  felt  the  importance  of  admin- 
istering a  practical  check  to  it.  I  trusted  to  those  ominous 
words, "  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,"  to  administer  the  check,  and  I 
did  not  trust  in  vain.  My  aged  admirer  gently  dropped  my 
hand,  and,  with  all  possible  politeness,  changed  the  subject. 

"The  favor  is  granted,  of  course!"  he  said.  "And  now, 
tell  me,  how  is  our  dear  Eustace?" 

"  Anxious  and  out  of  spirits,"  I  answered. 

"Anxious  and  out  of  spirits  !"  repeated  the  Major.  "The 
enviable  man  who  is  married  to  You  anxious  and  out  of  spir- 
its? Monstrous  !  Eustace  fairly  disgusts  me.  I  shall  take 
him  off  the  list  of  my  friends." 

"In  that  case,  take  me  off  the  list  with  him,  Major.  I  am 
in  wretched  spirits  too.  You  are  my  husband's  old  friend.  I 
may  acknowledge  to  you  that  our  married  life  is  just  now 
not  quite  a  happy  one." 

Major  Fitz-David  lifted  his  eyebrows  (dyed  to  match  his 
Avhiskers)  :^v  polite  surprise. 

"  Already !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What  can  Eustace  be  made 
of?  Has  he  no  appreciation  of  beauty  and  grace  ?  Is  he  the 
most  insensible  of  living  beings?" 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  57 

"He  is  the  best  and  dearest  of  men,"  I  answered.  "  But 
there  is  some  dreadful  mystery  in  his  past  life — " 

I  could  get  no  farther ;  Major  Fitz-David  deliberately 
stopped  me.  He  did  it  with  the  smoothest  politeness,  on  the 
surface.  But  I  saw  a  look  in  his  bright  little  eyes  which 
said,  plainly,  "  If  you  will  venture  on  delicate  ground,  madam, 
don't  ask  me  to  accompany  you." 

u  My  charming  friend  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  May  I  call  you 
my  charming  friend?  You  have — among  a  thousand  other 
delightful  qualities  which  I  can  see  already — a  vivid  imagina- 
tion. Don't  let  it  get  the  upper  hand.  Take  an  old  fellow's 
advice ;  don't  let  it  get  the  upper  hand  !  What  can  I  offer 
you,  dear  Mrs.  Woodville  ?  A  cup  of  tea  ?" 

"  Call  me  by  my  right  name,  sir,"  I  answered,  boldly.  "  I 
have  made  a  discovery.  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that  my 
name  is  Macallan." 

The  Major  started,  and  looked  at  me  very  attentively. 
His  manner  became  grave,  his  tone  changed  completely, 
when  he  spoke  next. 

'•May  I  ask,"  he  said, "if  you  have  communicated  to  your 
husband  the  discovery  which  you  have  just  mentioned  to 
me?" 

"Certainly!"  I  answered.  "I  consider  that  my  husband 
owes  me  an  explanation.  I  have  asked  him  to  tell  me  what 
his  extraordinary  conduct  means — and  he  has  refused,  in  lan- 
guage that  frightens  me.  I  have  appealed  to  his  mother — 
and  she  has  refused  to  explain,  in  language  that  humiliates 
me.  Dear  Major  Fitz-David,  I  have  no  friends  to  take  my 
part :  I  have  nobody  to  come  to  but  you  !  Do  me  the  great- 
est of  all  favors — tell  me  why  your  friend  Eustace  has  mar- 
ried me  under  a  false  name  !" 

"Do  me  the  greatest  of  all  favor?,"  answered  the  Major. 
"Don't  ask  me  to  say  a  word  about  it." 

He  looked,  in  spite  of  his  unsatisfactory  reply,  as  if  he 
really  felt  for  me.  I  determined  to  try  my  utmost  powers 
of  persuasion  ;  I  resolved  not  to  be  beaten  at  the  first  repulse-. 

"I  must  ask  you,"  I  said.  "Think  of  my  position.  How 
can  I  live,  knowing  what  I  know — and  knowing  no  more? 
I  would  rather  hear  the  most  horrible  thing  youN-an  tell  me 
than  be  condemned  (as  I  am  now)  to  perpetual  misgiving 
and  perpetual  suspense.  I  love  my  husband  with  all  my 
heart ;  but  I  can  not  live  with  him  on  these  terms :  the  mis- 
C  2 


58  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

ery  of  it  would  drive  me  mad.  I  am  only  a  woman,  Major. 
I  can  only  throw  myself  on  your  kindness.  Don't — pray, 
pray  don't  keep  me  in  the  dark !" 

I  could  say  no  more.  In  the  reckless  impulse  of  the  mo- 
ment I  snatched  up  his  hand  and  raised  it  to  my  lips.  The 
gallant  old  gentleman  started  as  if  I  had  given  him  an  electric 
shock. 

"  My  dear,  dear  lady  !"  he  exclaimed, "  I  can't  tell  you  how 
I  feel  for  you !  You  charm  me,  you  overwhelm  me,  you  touch 
me  to  the  heart.  What  can  I  say  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  I  can 
only  imitate  your  admirable  frankness,  your  fearless  candor. 
You  have  told  me  what  your  position  is.  Let  me  tell  you, 
in  my  turn,  how  I  am  placed.  Compose  yourself — pray  com- 
pose yourself!  I  have  a  smelling-bottle  here  at  the  service 
of  the  ladies.  Permit  me  to  offer  it." 

He  brought  me  the  smelling-bottle ;  he  put  a  little  stool 
under  my  feet ;  he  entreated  me  to  take  time  enough  to  com- 
pose myself.  "  Infernal  fool !"  I  heard  him  say  to  himself,  as 
he  considerately  turned  away  from  me  for  a  few  moments. 
"If  I  had  been  her  husband,  come  what  might  of  it,  I  would 
have  told  her  the  truth !" 

Was  he  referring  to  Eustace  ?  And  was  he  going  to  do 
what  he  would  have  done  in  my  husband's  place  ? — was  he 
really  going  to  tell  me  the  truth  ? 

The  idea  had  barely  crossed  my  mind  when  I  was  startled 
by  a  loud  and  peremptory  knocking  at  the  street  door.  The 
Major  stopped  and  listened  attentively.  In  a  few  moments 
the  door  was  opened,  and  the  rustling  of  a  woman's  dress 
was  plainly  audible  in  the  hall.  The  Major  hurried  to  the 
door  of  the  room  with  the  activity  of  a  young  man.  He 
was  too  late.  The  door  was  violently  opened  from  the  outer 
side,  just  as  he  got  to  it.  The  lady  of  the  rustling  dress 
burst  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   DEFEAT   OF   THE   MAJOR. 


MAJOR  FITZ-DAVID'S  visitor  proved,  to  be  a  plump,  round- 
eyed,  overdressed  girl,  with  a  florid  complexion  and  straw- 
colored  hair.  After  first  fixing  on  me  a  broad  stare  of  as- 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  59 

tonishment,  she  pointedly  addressed  her  apologies  for  in- 
truding on  us  to  the  Major  alone.  The  creature  evidently 
believed  me  to  be  the  last  new  object  of  the  old  gentleman's 
idolatry ;  and  she  took  no  pains  to  disguise  her  jealous  re- 
sentment on  discovering  us  together.  Major  Fitz-David  set 
matters  right  in  his  own  irresistible  way.  He  kissed  the 
hand  of  the  overdressed  girl  as  devotedly  as  he  had  kissed 
mine ;  he  told  her  she  was  looking  charmingly.  Then  he 
led  her,  with  his  happy  mixture  of  admiration  and  respect, 
back  to  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered — a  second  door 
communicating  directly  with  the  hall. 

"Xo  apology  is  necessary,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "This  lady 
is  with  me  on  a  matter  of  business.  You  will  find  your  sing- 
ing-master waiting  for  you  up-stairs.  Begin  your  lesson ; 
and  I  will  join  you  in  a  few  minutes.  Ait  revolt',  my  charm- 
ing pupil — au  revoir." 

The  young  lady  answered  this  polite  little  speech  in  a 
whisper — with  her  round  eyes  fixed  distrustfully  on  me  while 
she  spoke.  The  door  closed  on  her.  Major  Fitz-David  was 
at  liberty  to  set  matters  right  with  me,  in  my  turn. 

"I  call  that  young  person  one  of  my  happy  discoveries," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  complacently.  "She  possesses,  I 
don't  hesitate  to  say,  the  finest  soprano  voice  in  Europe. 
Would  you  believe  it,  I  met  with  her  at  the  railway  station. 
She  was  behind  the  counter  in  a  refreshment-room,  poor  in- 
nocent, rinsing  wine-glasses,  and  singing  over  her  work. 
Good  Heavens,  such  singing !  Her  upper  notes  electrified 
me.  I  said  to  myself,  'Here  is  a  born  prima  donna — I  will 
bring  her  out !'  She  is  the  third  I  have  brought  out  in  my 
time.  I  shall  take  her  to  Italy  when  her  education  is  suf- 
ficiently advanced,  and  perfect  her  at  Milan.  In  that  un- 
sophisticated girl,  my  dear  lady,  you  see  one  of  the  future 
Queens  of  Song.  Listen!  She  is  beginning  her  scales.  What 
a  voice  !  Brava  !  Brava  !  Bravissima !" 

The  high  soprano  notes  of  the  future  Queen  of  Song  rang 
through  the  house  as  he  spoke.  Of  the  loudness  of  the 
young  lady!s  voice  there  could  be  no  sort  of  doubt.  The 
sweetness  and  the  purity  of  it  admitted,  in  my  opinion,  of 
considerable  dispute. 

Having  said  the  polite  words  which  the  occasion  rendered 
necessary,  I  ventured  to  recall  Major  Fitz-David  to  the  sub- 
ject in  discussion  between  us  when  his  visitor  had  entered 


60  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

the  room.  The  Major  was  very  unwilling  to  return  to  the 
perilous  topic  on  which  we  had  just  touched  when  the  in- 
terruption occurred.  He  beat  time  with  his  forefinger  to 
the  singing  up -stairs;  he  asked  me  about  my  voice,  and 
whether  I  sang ;  he  remarked  that  life  would  be  intolerable 
to  him  without  Love  and  Art.  A  man  in  my  place  would 
have  lost  all  patience,  and  would  have  given  up  the  struggle 
in  disgust.  Being  a  woman,  and  having  my  end  in  view,  my 
resolution  was  invincible.  I  fairly  wore  out  the  Major's  re- 
sistance, and  compelled  him  to  surrender  at  discretion.  It  is 
only  justice  to  add  that,  when  he  did  make  up  his  mind 
to  speak  to  me  again  of  Eustace,  he  spoke  frankly,  and  spoke 
to  the  point, 

"I  have  known  your  husband,"  he  began, "since  the  time 
when  he  was  a  boy.  At  a  certain  period  of  his  past  life  a 
terrible  misfortune  fell  upon  him.  The  secret  of  that  mis- 
fortune is  known  to  his  friends,  and  is  religiously  kept  by 
his  friends.  It  is  the  secret  that  he  is  keeping  from  You. 
He  will  never  tell  it  to  you  as  long  as  he  lives.  And  he 
has  bound  me  not  to  tell  it,  under  a  promise  given  on  my 
word  of  honor.  You  wished,  dear  Mrs.  Woodville,  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  my  position  toward  Eustace.  There 
it  is  S" 

"  You  persist  in  calling  me  Mrs. Woodville,"  I  said. 

"Your  husband  wishes  me  to  persist,"  the  Major  answer- 
ed. "He  assumed  the  name  of  Woodville,  fearing  to  give 
his  own  name,  when  he  first  calle'd  at  your  uncle's  house. 
He  will  now  acknowledge  no  other.  Remonstrance  is  use- 
less. You  must  do  what  we  do — you  must  give  -way  to  an 
unreasonable  man.  The  best  fellow  in  the  world  in  other 
respects:  in  this  one  matter  as  obstinate  and  self-willed  as 
he  can  be.  If  you  ask  me  my  opinion,  I  tell  you  honestly 
that  I  think  he  was  wrong  in  courting  and  marrying  you 
under  his  false  name.  He  trusted  his  honor  and  his  happi- 
ness to  your  keeping  in  making  you  his  wife.  Why  should 
he  not  trust  the  story  of  his  troubles  to  you  as  well  ?  His 
mother  quite  shares  my  opinion  in  this  matter.  You  must 
not  blame  her  for  refusing  to  admit  you  into  her  confidence 
after  your  marriage:  it  was  then  too  late.  Before  your 
marriage  she  did  all  she  could  do — without  betraying  secrets 
which,  as  a  good  mother,  she  was  bound  to  respect — to  in- 
duce her  son  to  act  justly  toward  you.  I  commit  no  indis- 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  Cl 

crction  when  I  tell  you  that  she  refused  to  sanction  your 
marriage-  mainly  for  the  reason  that  Eustace  refused  to  fol- 
low her  advice,  and  to  tell  you  what  his  position  really  was. 
On  my  part  I  did  all  I  could  to  support  Mrs.  Macallan  in  the 
course  that  she  took.  When  Eustace  wrote  to  tell  me  that 
he  had  engaged  himself  to  marry  a  niece  of  my  good  friend 
Doctor  Starkweather,  and  that  he  had  mentioned  me  as  his 
reference,  I  wrote  back  to  warn  him  that  I  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  affair  unless  he  revealed  the  whole  truth 
about  himself  to  his  future  wife.  lie  refused  to  listen  to  me, 
as  he  had  refused  to  listen  to  his  mother;  and  he  held  me  at 
the  same  time  to  my  promise  to  keep  his  secret.  When 
Starkweather  wrote  to  me,  I  had  no  choice  but  to  involve 
myself  in  a  deception  of  which  I  thoroughly  disapproved,  or 
to  answer  in  a  tone  so  guarded  and  so  brief  as  to  stop  the 
correspondence  at  the  outset.  I  chose  the  last  alternative ; 
and  I  fear  I  have  offended  my  good  old  friend.  You  now 
see  the  painful  position  in  which  I  am  placed.  To  add  to 
the  difficulties  of  that  situation,  Eustace  came  here  this  very 
day  to  warn  me  to  be  on  my  guard,  in  case  of  your  address- 
ing to  me  the  very  request  which  you  have  just  made  !  He 
told  me  that  you  had  met  with  his  mother,  by  an  unlucky 
accident,  and  that  you  had  discovered  the  family  name.  Ho 
declared  that  he  had  traveled  to  London  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  speaking  to  me  personally  on  this  serious  subject. 
'I  know  your  weakness,'  he  said,  'where  women  are  concern- 
ed. Valeria  is  aware  that  you  are  my  old  friend.  She  will 
certainly  write  to  you ;  she  may  even  be  bold  enough  to 
make  her  way  into  your  house.  Renew  your  promise  to 
keep  the  great  calamity  of  my  life  a  secret,  on  your  honor 
and  on  your  oath.'  Those  were  his  words,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember  them.  I  tried  to  treat  the  thing  lightly;  I  ridi- 
culed the  absurdly  theatrical  notion  of '  renewing  my  prom- 
ise,' and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Quite  useless !  He  refused  to 
leave  me ;  he  reminded  me  of  his  unmerited  sufferings,  poor 
fellow,  in  the  past  time.  It  ended  in  his  bursting  into  tears. 
You  love  him,  and  so  do  I.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  let  him 
have  his  way?  The  result  is  that  I  am  doubly  bound  to 
tell  yon  nothing,  by  the  most  sacred  promise  that  a  man  can 
give.  My  dear  lady,  I  cordially  side  with  you  in  this  matter ; 
I  long  to  relieve  your  anxieties.  I>ut  what  can  I  do?" 
He  stopped,  and  waited — gravely  waited — to  hear  my  reply. 


62  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

I  had  listened  from  beginning  to  end  without  interrupting 
him.  The  extraordinary  change  in  his  manner,  and  in  his 
way  of  expressing  himself,  while  he  was  speaking  of  Eustace, 
alarmed  me  as  nothing  had  alarmed  me  yet.  How  terrible 
(I  thought  to  myself)  must  this  untold  story  be,  if  the  mere 
act  of  referring  to  it  makes  light-hearted  Major  Fitz-David 
speak  seriously  and  sadly,  never  smiling,  never  paying  me  a 
compliment,  never  even  noticing  the  singing  up-stairs !  My 
heart  sank  in  me  as  I  drew  that  startling  conclusion.  For 
the  first  time  since  I  had  entered  the  house  I  was  at  the  end 
of  my  resources;  I  knew  neither  what  to  say  nor  what  to  do 
next. 

And  yet  I  kept  my  seat.  Never  had  the  resolution  to  dis- 
cover what  my  husband  was  hiding  from  me  been  more  firm- 
ly rooted  in  my  mind  than  it  was  at  that  moment !  I  can 
not  account  for  the  extraordinary  inconsistency  in  my  char- 
acter which  this  confession  implies.  I  can  only  describe  the 
facts  as  they  really  were. 

The  singing  went  on  up-stairs.  Major  Fitz-David  still 
waited  impenetrably  to  hear  what  I  had  to  say — to  know 
what  I  resolved  on  doing  next. 

Before  I  had  decided  what  to  say  or  what  to  do,  another 
domestic  incident  happened.  In  plain  words,  another  knock- 
ing announced  a  new  visitor  at  the  house  door.  On  this  oc- 
casion there  was  no  rustling  of  a  woman's  dress  in  the  hall. 
On  this  occasion  only  the  old  servant  entered  the  room,  car- 
rying a  magnificent  nosegay  in  his  hand.  "With  Lady  Cla- 
rinda's  kind  regards.  To  remind  Major  Fitz-David  of  his 
appointment."  Another  lady !  This  time  a  lady  with  a  title. 
A  great  lady  who  sent  her  flowers  and  her  messages  without 
condescending  to  concealment.  The  Major — first  apologizing 
to  me — wrote  a  few  lines  of  acknowledgment,  and  sent  them 
out  to  the  messenger.  When  the  door  was  closed  again  he 
carefully  selected  one  of  the  choicest  flowers  in  the  nosegay. 
"May  I  ask,"  he  said,  presenting  the  flower  to  me  with  his 
best  grace, "  whether  you  now  understand  the  delicate  posi- 
tion in  which  I  am  placed  between  your  husband  and  your- 
self?" 

The  little  interruption  caused  by  the  appearance  of  the 
nosegay  had  given  a  new  impulse  to  my  thoughts,  and  had 
thus  helped,  in  some  degree,  to  restore  me  to  myself.  I  was 
able  at  last  to  satisfy  Major  Fitz-David  that  his  considerate 


THE    LAW    AXD   THE    LADY.  63 

and  courteous  explanation  had  not  been  thrown  away  upon 
me. 

"I  thank  you, most  sincerely,  Major,"  I  said.  "You  have 
convinced  me  that  I  must  not  ask  you  to  forget,  on  my  ac- 
count, the  promise  which  you  have  given  to  my  husband.  It 
is  a  sacred  promise,  which  I  too  am  bound  to  respect — I 
quite  understand  that." 

The  Major  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  patted  me  on 
the  shoulder  in  high  approval  of  what  I  had  said  to  him. 

"Admirably  expressed  !"  he  rejoined,  recovering  his  light- 
hearted  looks  and  his  lover-like  ways  all  in  a  moment.  "My 
dear  lady,  you  have  the  gift  of  sympathy ;  you  see  exactly 
how  I  am  situated.  Do  you  know,  you  remind  me  of  my 
charming  Lady  Clarinda.  She  has  the  gift  of  sympathy,  and 
sees  exactly  how  I  am  situated.  I  should  so  enjoy  introduc- 
ing you  to  each  other,"  said  the  Major,  plunging  his  long 
nose  ecstatically  into  Lady  Clarinda's  flowers. 

I  had  my  end  still  to  gain ;  and,  being  (as  you  will  have 
discovered  by  this  time)  the  most  obstinate  of  living  women, 
I  still  kept  that  end  in  view. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  Lady  Clarinda,"  I  replied. 
"In  the  mean  time — " 

"  I  will  get  up  a  little  dinner,"  proceeded  the  Major,  with  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm.  "You  and  I  and  Lady  Clarinda.  Our 
young  prima  donna  shall  come  in  the  evening,  and  sing  to  us. 
Suppose  we  draw  out  the  menu?  My  sweet  friend,  what  is 
your  favorite  autumn  soup?" 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  I  persisted,  "  to  return  to  what  we 
were  speaking  of  just  now — " 

The  Major's  smile  vanished ;  the  Major's  hand  dropped 
the  pen  destined  to  immortalize  the  name  of  my  favorite 
autumn  soup. 

"  Must  we  return  to  that  ?"  he  asked,  piteously. 

"  Only  for  a  moment,"  I  said. 

"  You  remind  me,"  pursued  Major  Fitz-David,  shaking  his 
head  sadly,  "  of  another  charming  friend  of  mine — a  French 
friend — Madame  Mirliflore.  You  are  a  person  of  prodigious 
tenacity  of  purpose.  Madame  Mirliflore  is  a  person  of  pro- 
digious tenacity  of  purpose.  She  happens  to  be  in  London. 
Shall  we  have  her  at  our  little  dinner?"  The  Major  bright- 
ened at  the  idea,  and  took  up  the  pen  again.  "  Do  tell  me," 
he  said,  "  what  is  your  favorite  autumn  soup  ?" 


G4  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

"Pardon  me,"  I  began,  "  we  were  speaking  just  now — " 

"  Oh,  dear  me !"  cried  Major  Fitz-David.  "  Is  this  the 
other  subject?" 

"  Yes — this  is  the  other  subject." 

The  Major  put  down  his  pen  for  the  second  time,  and  re- 
gretfully dismissed  from  his  mind  Madame  Mirliflore  and  the 
autumn  soup. 

"  Yes  ?"  he  said,  with  a  patient  bow  and  a  submissive  smile. 
"  You  were  going  to  say — " 

"I  was  going  to  say,"  I  rejoined,  "that  your  promise  only 
pledges  you  not  to  tell  the  secret  which  my  husband  is  keep- 
ing from  me.  You  have  given  no  promise  not  to  answer  me 
if  I  venture  to  ask  you  one  or  two  questions." 

Major  Fitz-David  held  up  his  hand  warningly,  and  cast  a 
sly  look  at  me  out  of  his  bright  little  gray  eyes. 

"  Stop !"  he  said.  "  My  sweet  friend,  stop  there  !  I  know 
where  your  questions  will  lead  me,  and  what  the  result  will 
be  if  I  once  begin  to  answer  them.  When  your  husband  was 
here  to-day  he  took  occasion  to  remind  me  that  I  was  as 
weak  as  water  in  the  hands  of  a  pretty  woman.  He  is  quite 
right.  I  am  as  weak  as  water;  I  can  refuse  nothing  to  a 
pretty  woman.  Dear  and  admirable  lady,  don't  abuse  your 
influence !  don't  make  an  old  soldier  false  to  his  word  of 
honor !" 

I  tried  to  say  something  here  in  defense  of  my  motives. 
The  Major  clasped  his  hands  entreatingly,  and  looked  at  me 
with  a  pleading  simplicity  wonderful  to  see. 

"  Why  press  it  ?w  he  asked.  "  I  offer  no  resistance.  I  am 
a  lamb — why  sacrifice  me?  I  acknowledge  your  power;  I 
throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  All  the  misfortunes  of  my 
youth  and  my  manhood  have  come  to  me  through  women. 
I  am  not  a  bit  better  in  my  age — I  am  just  as  fond  of  the 
women  and  just  as  ready  to  be  misled  by  them  as  ever,  with 
one  foot  in  the  grave.  Shocking,  isn't  it?  But  how  true  ! 
Look  at  this  mark  !"  He  lifted  a  curl  of  his  beautiful  brown 
wig,  and  showed  me  a  terrible  scar  at  the  side  of  his  head. 
"  That  wound  (supposed  to  be  mortal  at  the  time)  was  made 
by  a  pistol  bullet,"  he  proceeded.  "  Not  received  in  the  serv- 
ice of  my  country — oh  dear,  no  !  Received  in  the  service  of 
a  much-injured  lady,  at  the  hands  of  her  scoundrel  of  a  hus- 
band, in  a  duel  abroad.  Well,  she  was  worth  it."  He  kissed 
his  hand  affectionately  to  the  memory  of  the  dead  or  absent 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADV.  05 

lady,  and  pointed  to  a  water-color  drawing  of  a  pretty  coun- 
try-house hanging  on  the  opposite  wall.  "  That  fine  estate," 
he  proceeded,  "once  belonged  to  me.  It  was  sold  years  and 
years  since.  And  who  had  the  money  ?  The  women — God 
bless  them  all ! — the  women.  I  don't  regret  it.  If  I  had 
another  estate,  I  have  no  doubt  it  would  go  the  same  way. 
Your  adorable  sex  has  made  its  pretty  playthings  of  my  life, 
my  time,  and  my  money — and  welcome  !  The  one  thing  I 
have  kept  to  myself  is  my  honor.  And  now  that  is  in  dan- 
ger. Yes,  if  you  put  your  clever  little  questions,  with  those 
lovely  eyes  and  with  that  gentle  voice,  I  know  what  will 
happen.  You  will  deprive  me  of  the  last  and  best  of  all  my 
possessions.  Have  I  deserved  to  be  treated  in  that  way,  and 
by  you,  my  charming  friend  ? — by  you,  of  all  people  in  the 
world?  Oh,  fie!  fie!" 

He  paused  and  looked  at  me  as  before— the  picture  of  art- 
less entreaty,  with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side.  I  made  an- 
other attempt  to  speak  of  the  matter  in  dispute  between  us, 
from  my  own  point  of  view.  Major  Fitz-David  instantly  threw 
himself  prostrate  on  my  mercy  more  innocently  than  ever. 

"Ask  of  me  any  thing  else  in  the  wide  world,"  he  said; 
"  but  don't  ask  me  to  be  false  to  my  friend.  Spare  me  that 
— and  there  is  nothing  I  will  not  do  to  satisfy  you.  I  mean 
what  I  say,  mind !"  lie  went  on,  bending  closer  to  me,  and 
speaking  more  seriously  than  he  had  spoken  yet.  "I  think 
you  are  very  hardly  used.  It  is  monstrous  to  expect  that  a 
woman,  placed  in  your  situation,  will  consent  to  be  left  for 
the  rest  of  her  life  in  the  dark.  Xo  !  no  !  if  I  saAv  you,  at 
this  moment,  on  the  point  of  finding  out  for  yourself  what 
Eustace  persists  in  hiding  from  you,  I  should  remember  that 
my  promise,  like  all  other  promises,  has  its  limits  and  re- 
serves. I  should  consider  myself  bound  in  honor  not  to  help 
you — but  I  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  prevent  you  from  dis- 
covering the  truth  for  yourself.". 

At  last  he  was  speaking  in  good  earnest :  he  laid  a  strong 
emphasis  on  his  closing  words.  I  laid  a  stronger  emphasis 
on  them  still  by  suddenly  leaving  my  chair.  The  impulse 
to  spring  to  my  feet  was  irresistible.  Major  Fitz-David  had 
started  a  new  idea  in  my  mind. 

"Xow  we  understand  each  other  !"  I  said.  "I  will  accept 
your  own  terms,  Major.  I  will  ask  nothing  of  you  but  what 
you  have  just  offered  to  me  of  your  own  accord.'' 


66  THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY. 

"What  have  I  offered?"  he  inquired,  looking  a  little 
alarmed. 

"  Nothing  that  you  need  repent  of,"  I  answered  ;  "  nothing 
which  is  not  easy  for  you  to  grant.  May  I  ask  a  bold  ques- 
tion ?  Suppose  this  house  was  mine  instead  of  yours  ?" 

"Consider  it  yours,"  cried  the  gallant  old  gentleman. 
"  From  the  garret  to  the  kitchen,  consider  it  yours !" 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Major;  I  will  consider  it  mine  for 
the  moment.  You  know — every  body  knows — that  one  of  a 
woman's  many  weaknesses  is  curiosity.  Suppose  my  cu- 
riosity led  me  to  examine  every  thing  in  my  new  house  ?" 

"Yes?" 

"  Suppose  I  went  from  room  to  room,  and  searched  every 
thing,  and  peeped  in  every  where?  Do  you  think  there 
would  be  any  chance — " 

The  quick-witted  Major  anticipated  the  nature  of  my  ques- 
tion. He  followed  my  example ;  he  too  started  to  his  feet, 
with  a  new  idea  in  his  mind. 

"  Would  there  be  any  chance,"  I  went  on,  "  of  my  finding 
my  own  way  to  my  husband's  secret  in  this  house?  One 
word  of  reply,  Major  Fitz-David  !  Only  one  word — Yes  or 
No?" 

"Don't  excite  yourself!"  cried  the  Major. 

"  Yes  or  No  ?"  I  repeated,  more  vehemently  than  ever. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Major,  after  a  moment's  consideration. 

It  was  the  reply  I  had  asked  for ;  but  it  was  not  explicit 
enough,  now  I  had  got  it,  to  satisfy  me.  I  felt  the  necessity 
of  leading  him  (if  possible)  into  details. 

"  Does  '  Yes '  mean  that  there  is  some  sort  of  clew  to  the 
mystery?"  I  asked.  "Something,  for  instance,  which  my  eyes 
might  see  and  my  hands  might  touch  if  I  could  only  find  it  ?" 

He  considered  again.  I  saw  that  I  had  succeeded  in  inter- 
esting him  in  some  way  unknown  to  myself;  and  I  waited 
patiently  until  he  was  prepared  to  answer  me. 

"The  thing  you  mention,"  he  said,  "the  clew  (as  you  call 
it),  might  be  seen  and  might  be  touched — supposing  you 
could  find  it." 

"  In  this  house  ?"  I  asked. 

The  Major  advanced  a  step  nearer  to  me,  and  answered, 

"  In  this  room." 

My  head  began  to  swim ;  my  heart  throbbed  violently.  I 
tried  to  speak ;  it  was  in  vain ;  the  effort  almost  choked  me. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  G7 

In  the  silence  I  could  hear  the  music-lesson  still  going  on  in  the 
room  above.  The  future  priraa  donna  had  done  practicing 
her  scales,  and  was  trying  her  voice  now  in  selections  from 
Italian  operas.  At  the  moment  when  I  first  heard  her  she 
was  singing  the  beautiful  air  from  the  Somnambula,  "  Come 
per  me  sereno."  I  never  hear  that  delicious  melody,  to  this 
day,  without  being  instantly  transported  in  imagination  to 
the  fatal  back-room  in  Vivian  Place. 

The  Major — strongly  affected  himself  by  this  time — was 
the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

" Sit  down  again,"  he  said  ;  "and  pray  take  the  easy-chair. 
You  are  very  much  agitated ;  you  want  rest." 

He  was  right.  I  could  stand  no  longer;  I  dropped  into 
the  chair.  Major  Fitz-David  rang  the  bell,  and  spoke  a  few 
words  to  the  servant  at  the  door. 

"  I  have  been  here  a  long  time,"  I  said,  faintly.  "  Tell  me 
if  I  am  in  the  way." 

"In  the  way?"  he  repeated,  with  his  irresistible  smile. 
"  You  forget  that  you  are  in  your  own  house !" 

The  servant  returned  to  us,  bringing  with  him  a  tiny  bottle 
of  Champagne  and  a  plateful  of  delicate  little  sugared  biscuits. 

"I  have  had  this  wine  bottled  expressly  for  the  ladies," 
said  the  Major.  "  The  biscuits  came  to  me  direct  from  Paris. 
As  a  favor  to  me,  you  must  take  some  refreshment.  And 
then — "  He  stopped,  and  looked  at  me  very  attentively. 
"  And  then,"  he  resumed,  "  shall  I  go  to  my  young  prima 
donna  up-stairs,  and  leave  you  here  alone  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  hint  more  delicately  at  the  one  request 
which  I  now  had  it  in  my  mind  to  make  to  him.  I  took  his 
hand  and  pressed  it  gratefully. 

"The  tranquillity  of  my  whole  life  to  come  is  at  stake,"  I 
said.  "When  I  am  left  here  by  myself,  does  your  generous 
sympathy  permit  me  to  examine  every  thing  in  the  room?" 

He  signed  to  me  to  drink  the  Champagne  and  eat  a  biscuit 
before  he  gave  his  answer. 

"This  is  serious,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you  to  be  in  perfect 
possession  of  yourself.  Restore  your  strength — and  then  I 
will  speak  to  you." 

I  did  as  he  bade  me.  In  a  minute  from  the  time  when  I 
drank  it  the  delicious  sparkling  wine  had  begun  to  revive  me. 

"  Is  it  your  express  wish,"  he  resumed,  "  that  I  should  leave 
you  here  by  yourself  to  search  the  room  ?" 


68  THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

"  It  is  my  express  wish,"  I  answered. 

"I  take  a  heavy  responsibility  on  myself  in  granting  your 
request.  But  I  grant  it  for  all  that,  because  I  sincerely  be- 
lieve— as  you  believe — that  the  tranquillity  of  your  life  to 
come  depends  on  your  discovering  the  truth."  Saying  those 
words,  he  took  two  keys  from  his  pocket.  "  You  will  natu- 
rally feel  a  |«spicion,"  he  went  on,  "  of  any  locked  doors  that 
you  may  find  here.  The  only  locked  places  in  the  room  are 
the  doors  of  the  cupboards  under  the  long  book-case,  and  the 
door  of  the  Italian  cabinet  in  that  corner.  The  small  key 
opens  the  book-case  cupboards;  the  long  key  opens  the  cab- 
inet door." 

With  that  explanation,  he  laid  the  keys  before  me  on  the 
table. 

"  Thus  far,"  he  said,  "  I  have  rigidly  respected  the  promise 
which  I  made  to  your  husband.  I  shall  continue  to  be  faith- 
ful to  my  promise,  whatever  may  be  the  result  of  your  ex- 
amination of  the  room.  I  am  bound  in  honor  not  to  assist 
you  by  word  or  deed.  I  am  not  even  at  liberty  to  offer  you 
the  slightest  hint.  Is  that  understood?" 

"  Certainly !" 

"  Very  good.  I  have  now  a  last  word  of  warning  to  give 
you — and  then  I  have  done.  If  you  do  by  any  chance  suc- 
ceed in  laying  your  hand  on  the  clew,  remember  this — the 
discovery  which  follows  icitt  be  a  terrible  one.  If  you  have 
any  doubt  about  your  capacity  to  sustain  a  shock  which  will 
strike  you  to  the  soul,  for  God's  sake  give  up  the  idea  of 
finding  out  your  husband's  secret  at  once  and  forever !" 

"I  if  hank  you  for  your  warning,  Major.  I  must  face  the 
consequences  of  making  the  discovery,  whatever  they  may 
be." 

"  You  are  positively  resolved  ?" 

"Positively." 

"  Very  well.  Take  any  time  you  please.  The  house,  and 
every  person  in  it,  are  at  your  disposal.  Ring  the  bell  once 
if  you  want  the  man-servant.  Ring  twice  if  you  wish  the 
house-maid  to  wait  on  you.  From  time  to  time  I  shall  just 
look  in  myself  to  see  how  you  are  going  on.  I  am  responsi- 
ble for  your  comfort  and  security,  you  know,  while  you  hon- 
or me  by  remaining  under  my  roof." 

He  lifted  my  hand  to  his  lips,  and  fixed  a  last  attentive 
look  on  me. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  G9 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  running  too  great  a  risk,"  lie  said — more 
to  himself  than  to  me.  "The  women  have  led  me  into  many 
a  rash  action  in  my  time.  Have  you  led  me,  I  wonder,  into 
the  rashest  action  of  all?" 

With  those  ominous  last  words  he  bowed  gravely  and  lull 
me  alone  in  the  room. 


p»        • 

CHAPTER  X.' 

THE   SEAKCIlJP 

THE  fire  burning  in  the  grate  was  not  a  very  large  one ; 
and  the  outer  air  (as  I  had  noticed  on  my  way  to  the  house) 
had  something  of  a  wintry  sharpness  in  it  that  day. 

Still,  my  first  feeling,  when  Major  Fitz-David  left  me,  was 
a  feeling  of  heat  and  oppression,  with  its  natural  result,  a 
difficulty  in  breathing  freely.  The  nervous  agitation  of  the 
time  was,  I  suppose,  answerable  for  these  sensations.  I  took 
off  my  bonnet  and  mantle  and  gloves,  and  opened  the  win- 
dow for  a  little  while.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  outside  but 
a  paved  court-yard,  with  a  skylight  in  the  middle,  closed  at 
the  farther  end  by  the  wall  of  the  Major's  stages.  A  few 
minutes  at  the  window  cooled  and  refreshed  me.'  I  shut  it 
down  again,  and  took  my  first  step  on  the  way  of  discovery. 
In  other  words,  I  began  my  first  examination  of  the  four 
walls  around  me,  and  of  all  that  they  inclosed. 

I  was  amazed  at  my  own  calmness.  My  interview  with 
Major  Fitz-David  had,  perhaps,  exhausted  my  capacity  for 
feeling  any  strong  emotion,  for  the  time  at  least.  It  was  a 
relief  to  me  to  be  alone ;  it  was  a  relief  to  me  to  begin  the 
search.  Those  were  my  only  sensations  so  far. 

The  shape  of  the  room  was  oblong.  Of  the  two  shorter 
walls,  one  contained  the  door  in  grooves  which  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned  as  communicating  with  the  front  room;  the 
other  was  almost  entirely  occupied  by  the  broad  window 
which  looked  out  on  the  court-yard. 

Taking  the  doorway  Avail  first,  what  was  there,  in  the 
shape  of  furniture,  on  either  side  of  it?  There  Avas  a  card- 
table  on  either  side.  Above  each  card-table  stood  a  magnif- 
icent china  bowl,  placed  on  a  gilt  and  carved  bracket  fixed 
to  the  Avail. 


• 

70  THE    LAW   AXD   THE   LADY. 

*  I  opened  the  card-tables.  The  drawers  beneath  contained 
nothing  Wit  cards,  and  the  usual  counters  and  markers.  With 
the  exception  of  one  pack,  the  cards  in  both  tables  were  still 
wrapped  in  their  paper  covers  exactly  as  they  had  come  from 
the  shop,  I  examined  the  loose  pack,  card  by  card.  No 
writing,  no  mark  of  any  kind,  was  visible  on  any  one  of 
them.  Assisted  by  a  library  ladder  which  stood  against  the 
book-case,  I  looked  next  into  the  two  china  bowls.  Both 
were  perfectly  empty.  "Was  there  any  thing  more  to  exam- 
ine on  that  side  of  the  room?  In  the  two  corners  there  were 
two  little  chairs  of  inlaid  wood,  with  red  silk  cushions.  I 
turned  them  up  and  looked  under  the  cushions,  and  still  I 
made  no  discoveries.  When  I  had  put  the  chairs  back  in 
their  places  ray  search  on  one  side  of  the  room  was  com- 
plete. So  far  rh,ad  found  nothing. 

I  crossed  to  the  opposite  wall,  the  wall  which  contained 
the  window. 

The  window  (occupying,  as  I  have  said,  almost  the  entire 
length  and  height  of  the  wall)  was  divided  into  three  com- 
partments, and  was  adorned  at  their  extremity  by  handsome 
curtains  of  dark  red  velvet.  The  ample  heavy  folds  of  the 
velvet  left  just  room  at  the  two  corpers  of  the  wall  for  two 
little  upright  cabinets  in  buhl,  containing  rows  of  drawers, 
and  supporting  two  fine  bronze  productions  (reduced  in  size) 
of  the  Venus  Milo  and  the  Venus  Callipyge.  I  had  Major 
Fitz-David's  permission  to  do  just  what  I  pleased.  I  opened 
the  six  drawers  in  each  cabinet,  and  examined  their  contents 
without  hesitation. 

Beginning  with  the  cabinet  in  the  right-hand  corner,  my 
investigations  were  soon  completed.  All  the  six  drawers 
were  alike  occupied  by  a  collection  of  fossils,  which  (judging 
by  the  curious  paper  inscriptions  fixed  "on  some  of  them) 
were  associated  with  a  past  period  of  the  Major's  life  when 
lie  had  speculated,  not  very  successfully,  in  mines.  After 
satisfying  myself  that  the  drawers  contained  nothing  but 
the  fossils  and  their  inscriptions,  I  turned  to  the  cabinet  in 
the  left-hand  corner  next. 

Here  a  variety  of  objects  was  revealed  to  view,  and  the 
examination  accordingly  occupied  a  much  longer  time. 

The  top  drawer  contained  a  complete  collection  of  carpen- 
ter's tools  in  miniature,  relics  probably  of  the  far-distant  time 
when  the  Major  was  a  boy,  and  when  parents  or  friends  had 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  71 

made  him  a  present  of  a  set  of  toy  tools.  The  second  drawer 
was  filled  with  toys  of  another  sort  —  presents  madfe  to  Ma- 
jor Fitz-David  by  his  fair  friends.  Embroidered  braces,  smart 
smoking-caps,  quaint  pincushions,  gorgeous  slippers,  glitter- 
ing purses,  all  bore  witness  to  the  popularity  of  the  friend  of 
the  women.  The  contents  of  the  third  drawer  were  of  a 
less  interesting  sort :  the  entire  space  was  filled  with  old  ac- 
count-books, ranging  over  a  period  of  many  years.  After 
looking  into  each  book,  and  opening  and  shaking  it  useless- 
ly, in  search  of  any  loose  papers  which  might  be  hidden  be- 
tween the  leaves,  I  came  to  the  fourth  drawer,  and  found 
more  relics  of  past  pecuniary  transactions  in  the  shape  of 
receipted  bills,  neatly  tied  together,  and  each  inscribed  at 
the  back.  Among  the  bills  I  found  nearly  a  dozen  loose  pa- 
pers, all  equally  unimportant.  The  fifth  drawer  was  in  sad 
confusion.  I  took  out  first  a  loose  bundle  of  ornamental 
cards,  each  containing  the  list  of  dishes  at  past  banquets 
given  or  attended  by  the  Major  in  London  or  Paris;  next, 
a  box  full  of  delicately  tinted  quill  pens  (evidently  a  lady's 
gift);  next,  a  quantity  of  old  invitation  cards;  next,  some 
dog's-eared  French  plays  and  books  of  the  opera;  next, 
a  pocket-corkscrew,  a  bundle  of  cigarettes,  and  a  bunch  of 
rusty  keys ;  lastly,  a  passport,  a  set  of  luggage  labels,  a  bro- 
ken silver  snuff-box,  two  cigar-cases,  and  a  torn  map  of  Rome. 
"Nothing  any  where  to  interest  me"  I  thought,  as  I  closed 
the  fifth,  and  opened  the  sixth  and  last  drawer. 

The  sixth  drawer  was  at  once  a  surprise  and  a  disappoint- 
ment. It  literally  contained  nothing  but  the  fragments  of  a 
broken  vase. 

I  was  sitting,  at  the  time,  opposite  to  the  cabinet,  in  a  low 
chair.  In  the  momentary  irritation  caused  by  my  discovery 
of  the  emptiness  01  the  last  drawer,  I  had  just  lifted  my  foot 
to  push  it  back  into  its  place,  when  the  door  communicating 
with  the  hall  opened,  and  Major  Fitz-David  stood  before  me. 

His  eyes,  after  first  meeting  mine,  traveled  downward  to  my 
foot.  The  instant  he  noticed  the  open  drawer  I  saw  a  change 
in  his  face.  It  was  only  for  a  moment ;  but  in  that  moment 
he  looked  at  me  with  a  sudden  suspicion  and  surprise — looked 
as  if  he  had  caught  me  with  my  hand  on  the  clew. 

"Pray  don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  Major  Fitz-David. 
"  I  have  only  come  here  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"What  is*  it,  Major?" 


72  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

"Have  you  met  with  any  letters  of  mine  in  the  course  of 
your  investigations?" 

"  I  have  found  none  yet,"  I  answered.  "  If  I  do  discover 
any  letters,  I  shall,  of  course,  not  take  the  liberty  of  examin- 
ing them." 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  that,"  he  rejoined.  "It 
only  struck  me  a  moment  since,  up -stairs,  that  my  letters 
might  embarrass  you.  In  your  place  I  should  feel  some  dis- 
trust of  any  thing  which  I  was  not  at  liberty  to  examine. 
I  think  I  can  set  this  matter  right,  however,  with  very  little 
trouble  to  either  of  us.  It  is  no  violation  of  any  promises 
or  pledges  on  my  part  if  I  simply  tell  you  that  my  letters 
will  not  assist  the  discovery  which  you  are  trying  to  make. 
You  can  safely  pass  them  over  as  objects  that  are  not  worth 
examining  from  your  point  of  view.  You  understand  me,  I 
am  sure  ?" 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Major — I  quite  understand." 

"  Are  you  feeling  any  fatigue  ?" 

"  None  whatever,  thank  you." 

"And  you  still  hope  to  succeed?  You  are  not  beginning 
to  be  discouraged  already  ?" 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  discouraged.  "With  your  kind  leave, 
I  mean  to  persevere  for  some  time  yet." 

I  had  not  closed  the  drawer  of  the  cabinet  while  AVC  were 
talking,  and  I  glanced  carelessly,  as  I  answered  him,  at  the 
fragments  of  the  broken  vase.  By  this  time  he  had  got  his 
feelings  under  perfect  command.  He,  too,  glanced  at  the 
fragments  of  the  vase  with  an  appearance  of  perfect  indif- 
ference. I  remembered  the  look  of  suspicion  and  surprise 
that  had  escaped  him  on  entering  the  room,  and  I  thought 
his  indifference  a  little  overacted. 

"That  doesn't  look  very  encouraging,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  pointing  to  the  shattered  pieces  of  china  in  the 
drawer. 

"Appearances  are  not  always  to  be  trusted,"  I  replied. 
"  The  wisest  thing  I  can  do  in  my  present  situation  is  to 
suspect  every  thing,  even  down  to  a  broken  vase." 

I  looked  hard  at  him  as  I  spoke.    He  changed  the  subject. 

"Does  the  music  up-stairs  annoy  you?"  he  asked. 

"Not  in  the  least,  Major." 

"  It  will  soon  be  over  now.  The  singing-master  is  going, 
and  the  Italian  master  has  just  arrived.  I  am  sparing  no 


THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY.  ^3 

pains  to  make  my  young  prima  donna  a  most  accomplished 
person.  In  learning  to  sing  she  must  also  learn  the  language 
which  is  especially  the  language  of  music.  I  shall  perfect 
her  in  the  accent  when  I  take  her  to  Italy.  It  is  the  height 
of  my  ambition  to  have  her  mistaken  for  an  Italian  when 
she  sings  in  public.  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  before  I 
leave  you  again  ?  May  I  send  you  some  more  Champagne  ? 
Please  say  yes !" 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Major.  No  more  Champagne  for 
the  present.'" 

He  turned  at  the  door  to  kiss  his  hand  to  me  at  parting. 
At  the  same  moment  I  saw  his  eyes  wander  slyly  toward  the 
book-case.  It  was  only  for  an  instant.  I  had  barely  de- 
tected him  before  he  was  out  of  the  room. 

Left  by  myself  again,  I  looked  at  the  book-case — looked  at 
it  attentively  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  a  handsome  piece  of  furniture  in  ancient  carved 
oak,  and  it  stood  against  the  Avail  which  ran  parallel  with 
the  hall  of  the  house.  Excepting  the  space  occupied  in  the 
upper  corner  of  the  room  by  the  second  door,  which  opened 
into  the  hall,  the  book-case  filled  the  whole  length  of  the 
wall  down  to  the  window.  The  top  was  ornamented  by 
vases,  candelabra,  and  statuettes,  in  pairs,  placed  in  a  row. 
Looking  along  the  row,  I  noticed  a  vacant  space  on  the  top 
of  the  book-case  at  the  extremity  of  it  which  was  nearest  to 
the  window.  The  opposite  extremity,  nearest  to  the  door, 
was  occupied  by  a  handsome  painted  vase  of  a  very  peculiar 
pattern.  Where  was  the  corresponding  vase,  which  ought 
to  have  been  placed  at  the  corresponding  extremity  of  the 
book-case?  I  returned  to  the  open  sixth  drawer  of  the  cab- 
inet, and  looked  in  again.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  pat- 
tern on  the  fragments  when  I  examined  them  now.  The 
vase  which  had  been  broken  was  the  vase  which  had  stood 
in  the  place  now  vacant  on  the  top  of  the  book-case  at  the 
end  nearest  to  the  window. 

Making  this  discovery,  I  took  out  the  fragments,  down  to 
the  smallest  morsel  of  the  shattered  china,  and  examined 
them  carefully  one  after  another. 

I  was  too  ignorant'  of  the  subject  to  be  able  to  estimate 
the  value  of  the  v&te  or  the  antiquity  of  the  vase,  or  even  to 
know  whether  it  were  of  British  or  of  foreign  manufacture. 
The  ground  was  of  a  delicate  cream-color.  The  ornaments 


I 

74  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

traced  on  this  were  wreaths  of  flowers  and  Cupids  surround- 
ing a  medallion  on  either  side  of  the  vase.  Upon  the  space 
within  one  of  the  medallions  was  painted  with  exquisite  del- 
icacy a  woman's  head,  representing  a  nymph  or  a  goddess, 
or  perhaps  a  portrait  of  some  celebrated  person — I  was  not 
learned  enough  to  say  which.  The  other  medallion  inclosed 
the  head  of  a  man,  also  treated  in  the  classical  style.  Re- 
clining shepherds  and  shepherdesses  in  Watteau  costume, 
with  their  dogs  and  their  sheep,  formed  the  adornments  of 
the  pedestal.  Such  had  the  vase  been  in  the  days  of  its 
prosperity,  when  it  stood  on  the  top  of  the  book-case.  By 
what  accident  had  it  become  broken  ?  And  why  had  Major 
Fitz-David's  face  changed  when  he  found  that  I  had  discov- 
ered the  remains  of  his  shattered  work  of  art  in  the  cabinet 
drawer  ? 

The  remains  left  those  serious  questions  unanswered — the 
remains  told  me  absolutely  nothing.  And  yet,  if  my  own 
observation  of  the  Major  Avere  to  be  trusted,  the  way  to  the 
clew  of  which  I  was  in  search  lay,  directly  or  indirectly, 
through  the  broken  vase. 

It  was  useless  to  pursue  the  question,  knowing  no  more 
than  I  knew  now.  I  returned  to  the  book-case. 

Thus  far  I  had  assumed  (without  any  sufficient  reason) 
that  the  clew  of  which  I  was  in  search  must  necessarily  re- 
veal itself  through  a  written  paper  of  some  sort.  It  now 
occurred  to  me — after  the  movement  which  I  had  detected 
on  the  part  of  the  Major — that  the  clew  might  quite  as  prob- 
ably present  itself  in  the  form  of  a  book. 

I  looked  along  the  lower  rows  of  shelves,  standing  just 
near  enough  to  them  to  read  the  titles  on  the  backs  of  the 
volumes.  I  saw  Voltaire  in  red  morocco,  Shakespeare  in  blue, 
Walter  Scott  in  green,  the  History  of  England  in  brown, 
the  Annual  Register  in  yellow  calf.  There  I  paused,  wearied 
and  discouraged  already  by  the  long  rows  of  volumes.  How 
(I  thought  to  myself)  am  I  to  examine  all  these  books  ?  And 
what  am  I  to  look  for,  even  if  I  do  examine  them  all  ? 

Major  Fitz-Dav id  had  spoken  of  a  terrible  misfortune  which 
had  darkened  my  husband's  past  life.  In  what  possible  way 
could  any  trace  of  that  misfortune,  or  any  suggestive  hint 
of  something'resembling  it,  exist  in  the  archives  of  the  An- 
nual Register  or  in  the  pages  of  Voltaire?  The  bare  idea  of 
such  a  thing  seemed  absurd.  The  mere  attempt  to  make  a 


THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  75 

serious  examination  in  this  direction  was  surely  a  wanton 
waste  of  time. 

And  yet  the  Major  had  certainly  stolen  a  look  at  the  book- 
case. And  again,  the  broken  vase  had  once  stood  on  the 
book-case.  Did  these  circumstances  justify  me  in  connect- 
ing the  vase  and  the  book-case  as  twin  landmarks  on  the 
way  that  led  to  discovery  ?  The  question  was  not  an  easy 
one  to  decide  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

I  looked  up  at  the  higher  shelves. 

Here  the  collection  of  books  exhibited  a  greater  variety. 
The  volumes  were  smaller,  and  were  not  so  carefully  arranged 
as  on  the  lower  shelves.  Some  were  bound  in  cloth,  some 
were  only  protected  by  paper  covers;  one  or  two  had  fallen, 
and  lay  flat  on  the  shelves.  Here  and  there  I  saw  empty 
spaces  from  which  books  had  been  removed  and  not  replaced.' 
In  short,  there  was  no  discouraging  uniformity  in  these  high- 
er regions  of  the  book-case.  The  untidy  top  shelves  looked 
suggestive  of  some  lucky 'accident  Avhich  might  unexpected- 
ly lead  the  way  to  success.  I  decided,  if  I  did  examine  the 
book-case  at  all,  to  begin  at  the  top. 

Where  was  the  library  ladder  ? 

I  had  left  it  against  the  partition  wall  which  divided  the 
back  room  from  the  room  in  front.  Looking  that  way,  I  nec- 
essarily looked  also  toward  the  door  that  ran  in  grooves — 
the  imperfectly  closed  door  through  which  I  had  heard  Ma- 
jor Fitz-David  question  his  servant  on  the  subject  of  my  per- 
sonal appearance  when  I  first  entered  the  house.  No  one 
had  moved  this  door  during  the  time  of  my  visit.  Every 
body  entering  or  leaving  the  room  had  used  the  other  door, 
which  led  into  the  hall. 

At  the  moment  when  I  looked  round  something  stirred  in 
the  front  room.  The  movement  let  the  light  in  suddenly 
through  the  small  open  space  left  by  the  partially  closed  door. 
Had  somebody  been  watching  me  through  the  chink?  I 
stepped  softly  to  the  door,  and  pushed  it  back  until  it  was 
wide  open.  There  was  the  Major,  discovered  in  the  front 
room  !  I  saw  it  in  his  face — he  had  been  watching  me  at  the 
book-case ! 

His  hat  was  in  his  hand.  He  was  evidently  going  out; 
and  he  dextrously  took  advantage  of  that  circumstance  to 
give  a  plausible  reason  for  being  so  near  the  door. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  frighten  you,"  he  said. 


76  THE    LAW  AND   THE   LADY. 

"You  startled  me  a  little, Major." 

"I  am  so  sorry,  and  so  ashamed!  I  was  just  going  to 
opeu  the  door,  and  tell  you  that  I  am  obliged  to  go  out.  I 
have  received  a  pressing  message  from  a  lady.  A  charm- 
ing person — I  should  so  like  you  to  know  her.  She  is  in  sad 
trouble,  poor  thing.  Little  bills,  you  know,  and  nasty  trades- 
people who  want  their  money,  and  a  husband — oh,  dear  me, 
a  husband  who  is  quite  unworthy  of  her !  A  most  interest- 
ing creature.  You  remind  me  of  her  a  little ;  you  both  have 
the  same  carriage  of  the  head.  I  shall  not  be  more  than  half 
an  hour  gone.  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  ?  You  are  look- 
ing fatigued.  Pray  let  me  send  for  some  more  Champagne. 
No  ?  Promise  to  ring  when  you  want  it.  That's  right !  Ait 
revoir,  my  charming  friend — au  revoirf" 
•  I  pulled  the  door  to  again  the  moment  his  back  was  turned, 
and  sat  down  for  a  while  to  compose  myself. 

He  had  been  watching  me  at  the  book-case !  The  man 
who  was  in  my  husband's  confidence,  the  man  who  knew 
where  the  clew  was  to  be  found,  had  been  watching  me  at 
the  book-case  !  There  was  no  doubt  of  it  now.  Major  Fitz- 
David  had  shown  me  the  hiding-place  of  the  secret  in  spite 
of  himself! 

I  looked  with  indifference  at  the  other  pieces  of  furniture, 
ranged  against  the  fourth  wall,  which  I  had  not  examined 
yet.  I  surveyed,  without  the  slightest  feeling  of  curiosity, 
all  the  little  elegant  trifles  scattered  on  the  tables  and  on  the 
chimney-piece,  each  one  of  Avhich  might  have  been  an  object 
of  suspicion  to  me  under  other  circumstances.  Even  the  wa- 
ter-color di-awings  failed  to  interest  me  in  my  present  frame 
of  mind.  I  observed  languidly  that  they  were  most  of  them 
portraits  of  ladies — fair  idols,  no  doubt,  of  the  Major's  facile 
-adoration — and  I  cared  to  notice  no  more.  My  business  in 
that  room  (I  was  certain  of  it  now  !)  began  and  ended  with 
the  book-case.  I  left  my  seat  to  fetch  the  library  ladder, 
determining  to  begin  the  work  of  investigation  on  the  top 
shelves. 

On  my  way  to  the  ladder  I  passed  one  of  the  tables,  and 
saw  the  keys  lying  on  it  which  Major  Fitz-David  had  left  at 
my  disposal. 

The  smaller  of  the  two  keys  instantly  reminded  me  of  the 
cupboards  under  the  book-case.  I  had  strangely  overlooked 
these.  A  vague  distrust  of  the  locked  doors,  a  vague  doubt 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  77 

of  what  they  might  be  hiding  from  me,  stole  into  my  mind. 
I  left  the  ladder  in  its  place  against  the  Avail,  and  set  myself 
to  examine  the  contents  of  the  cupboards  first. 

The  cupboards  were  three  in  number.  As  I  opened  the 
first  of  them  the  singing  up-stairs  ceased.  For  a  moment 
there  was  something  almost  oppressive  in  the  sudden  change 
from  noise  to  silence.  I  suppose  my  nerves  must  have 
been  overwrought.  The  next  sound  in  the  house — nothing 
more  remarkable  than  the  creaking  of  a  man's  boots  descend- 
ing the  stairs — made  me  shudder  all  over.  The  man  was  no 
doubt  the  singing-master,  going  away  after  giving  his  lesson. 
I  heard  the  house  door  close  on  him,  and  started  at  the  fa- 
miliar sound  as  if  it  were  something  terrible  which  I  had 
never  heard  before.  Then  there  was  silence  again.  I  roused 
myself  as  well  as  I  could,  and  began  my  examination  of  the 
first  cupboard. 

It  was  divided  into  two  compartments. 

The  top  compartment  contained  nothing  but  boxes  of  ci- 
gars, ranged  in  rows,  one  on  another.  The  under  compart- 
ment was  devoted  to  a  collection  of  shells.  They  were  all 
huddled  together  anyhow,  the  Major  evidently  setting  a  far 
higher  value  on  his  cigars  than  on  his  shells.  I  searched  this 
lower  compartment  carefully  for  any  object  interesting  to  mo 
which  might  be  hidden  in  it.  Nothing  was  to  be  found  in 
any  part  of  it  besides  the  shells. 

As  I  opened  the  second  cupboard  it  struck  me  that  the 
light  was  beginning  to  fail. 

I  looked  at  the  window  :  it  was  hardly  evening  yet.  The 
darkening  of  the  light  was  produced  by  gathering  clouds. 
Rain-drops  pattered  against  the  glass;  the  autumn  wind, 
whistled  mournfully  in  the  corners  of  the  court -yard.  I 
mended  the  fire  before  I  renewed  my  search.  My  nerves 
were  in  fault  again,  I  suppose.  I  shivered  when  I  went  back 
to  the  book-case.  My  hands  trembled:  I  wondered  what 
was  the  matter  with  me. 

The  second  cupboard  revealed  (in  the  upper  division  of  it) 
some  really  beautiful  cameos — not  mounted,  but  laid  on  cot- 
ton-wool in  neat  card-board  trays.  In  one  corner,  half  hid- 
den under  one  of  the  trays,  there  peeped  out  the  Avhite  leaves 
of  a  little  manuscript.  I  pounced  on  it  eagerly,  only  to  meet 
with  a  new  disappointment:  the  manuscript  proved  to  be  a 
descriptive  catalogue  of  the  cameos — nothing  more! 


78  THE    LAW   AXD  THE    LADY. 

Turning  to  the  lower  division  of  the  cupboard,  I  found 
more  costly  curiosities  in  the  shape  of  ivory  carvings  from 
Japan  and  specimens  of  rare  silk  from  China.  I  began  to 
feel  weary  of  disinterring  the  Major's  treasures.  The  longer 
I  searched,  the  farther  I  seemed  to  remove  myself  from  the 
one  object  that  I  had  it  at  heart  to  attain.  After  closing  the 
door  of  the  second  cupboard,  I  almost  doubted  whether  it 
would  be  worth  my  while  to  proceed  farther  and  open  the 
third  and  last  door. 

A  little  reflection  convinced  me  that  it  would  be  as  well, 
now  that  I  had  begun  my  examination  of  the  lower  regions 
of  the  book-case,  to  go  on  with  it  to  the  end.  I  opened  the 
last  cupboard. 

On  the  upper  shelf  there  appeared,  in  solitary  grandeur, 
one  object  only — a  gorgeously  bound  book. 

It  was  of  a  larger  size  than  usual,  judging  of  it  by  compar- 
ison with  the  dimensions  of  modern  volumes.  The  binding 
was  of  blue  velvet,  with  clasps  of  silver  worked  in  beautiful 
arabesque  patterns,  and  with  a  lock  of  the  same  precious  met- 
al to  project  the  book  from  prying  eyes.  When  I  took  it 
up,  I  found  that  the  lock  was  not  closed. 

Had  I  any  right  to  take  advantage  of  this  accident,  and 
open  the  book.?  I  have  put  the  question  since  to  some  of 
my  friends  of  both  sexes.  The  women  all  agree  that  I  was 
perfectly  justified,  considering  the  serious  interests  that  I  had 
at  stake,  in  taking  any  advantage  of  any  book  in  the  Major's 
house.  The  men  differ  from  this  view,  and  declare  that  I 
ought  to  have  put  back  the  volume  in  blue  velvet  unopened, 
carefully  guarding  myself  from  any  after-temptation  to  look 
at  it  again  by  locking  the  cupboard  door.  I  dare  say  the 
men  are  right. 

Being  a  woman,  however,  I  opened  the  book  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

The  leaves  were  of  the  finest  vellum,  with  tastefully  de- 
signed illuminations  all  round  them.  And  what  did  these 
highly  ornamental  pages  contain  ?  To  my  unutterable  •amaze- 
ment and  disgust,  they  contained  locks  of  hair,  let  neatly  into 
the  centre  of  each  page,  with  inscriptions  beneath,  which 
proved  them  to  be  love-tokens  from  various  ladies  who  had 
touched  the  Major's  susceptible  heart  at  different  periods  of 
his  life.  The  inscriptions  were  written  in  other  languages 
besides  English,  but  they  appeared  to  be  all  equally  devoted 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  79 

to  the  same  curious  purpose,  namely,  to  reminding  the  Major 
of  the  dates  at  which  his  various  attachments  had  come  to 
an  untimely  end.  Thus  the  first  page  exhibited  a  lock  of 
the  lightest  flaxen  hair,  with  these  lines  beneath  :  "My  adored 
Madeline.  Eternal  constancy.  Alas,  July  22,  1839  !"  The 
next  page  was  adorned  by  a  darker  shade  of  hair,  with  a 
French  inscription  under  it :  "  Clemence.  Idole  de  mon  ame. 
Toujours  fidele.  Helas,  2me  Avril,  1840."  A  lock  of  red  hair 
followed,  with  a  lamentation  in  Latin  under  it,  a  note  being 
attached  to  the  date  of  dissolution  of  partnership  in  this  case, 
stating  that  the  lady  was  descended  from  the  ancient  Ro- 
mans, and  was  therefore  mourned  appropriately  in  Latin  by 
her  devoted  Fitz-David.  More  shades  of  hair  and  more  in- 
scriptions followed,  until  I  was  weary  of  looking  at  them.  I 
put  down  the  book,  disgusted  with  the  creatures  who  had 
assisted  in  filling  it,  and  then  took  it  up  again,  by  an  after- 
thought. Thus  far  I  had  thoroughly  searched  every  thing 
that  had  presented  itself  to  my  notice.  Agreeable  or  not 
agreeable,  it  was  plainly  of  serious  importance  to  my  own 
interests  to  go  on  as  I  had  begun,  and  thoroughly  to  search 
the  book. 

I  turned  over  the  pages  until  I  came  to  the  first  blank  leaf. 
Seeing  that  they  were  all  blank  leaves  from  this  place  to  the 
end,  I  lifted  the  volume  by  the  back,  and,  as  a  last  measure 
of  precaution,  shook  it  so  as  to  dislodge  any  loose  papers  or 
cards  which  might  have  escaped  my  notice  between  the 
leaves. 

This  time  my  patience  was  rewarded  by  a  discovery  which 
indescribably  irritated  and  distressed  me. 

A  small  photograph,  mounted  on  a  card,  fell  out  of  the 
book.  A  first  glance  showed  me  that  it  represented  the 
portraits  of  two  persons. 

One  of  the  persons  I  recognized  as  my  husband. 

The  other  person  was  a  woman. 

Her  face  was  entirely  unknown  to  me.  She  was  not  young. 
The  picture  represented  her  seated  on  a  chair,  with  my  hus- 
band standing  behind,  and  bending  over  her,  holding  one  of 
her  hands  in  his.  The  woman's  face  was  hard-featured  and 
ugly,  with  the  marking  lines  of  strong  passions  and  resolute 
st'lt'-will  plainly  written  on  it.  Still,  ugly  as  she  was,  I  felt  a 
pang  of  jealousy  as  I  noticed  the  familiarly  affectionate  ac- 
tion by  which  the  artist  (with  the  permission  of  his  sitters, 


80  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

of  course)  had  connected  the  two  figures  in  a  group.  Eus- 
tace had  briefly  told  me,  in  the  days  of  our  courtship,  that  he 
had  more  than  once  fancied  himself  to  be  in  love  before  he 
met  with  me.  Could  this  very  unattractive  woman  have 
been  one  of  the  early  objects  of  his  admiration?  Had  she 
been  near  enough  and  dear  enough  to  him  to  be  photograph- 
ed with  her  hand  in  his?  I  looked  and  looked  at  the  por- 
traits until  I  could  endure  them  no  longer.  Women  are 
strange  creatures — mysteries  even  to  themselves.  I  threw 
the  photograph  from  me  into  a  corner  of  the  cupboard.  I 
was  savagely  angry  with  my  husband ;  I  hated — yes,  hated 
with  all  my  heart  and  soul! — the  woman  who  had  got  his 
hand  in  hers — the  unknown  woman  with  the  self-willed, 
hard-featured  face. 

All  this  time  the  lower  shelf  of  the  cupboard  was  still 
waiting  to  be  looked  over. 

I  knelt  down  to  examine  it,  eager  to  clear  my  mind,  if  I 
could,  of  the  degrading  jealousy  that  had  got  possession  of 
me. 

Unfortunately,  the  lower  shelf  contained  nothing  but  relics 
of  the  Major's  military  life,  comprising  his  sword  and  pistols, 
his  epaulets,  his  sash,  and  other  minor  accoutrements.  None 
of  these  objects  excited  the  slightest  interest  in  me.  My 
eyes  wandered  back  to  the  upper  shelf;  and,  like  the  fool  I 
was  (there  is  no  milder  word  that  can  fitly  describe  me  at 
that  moment),  I  took  the  photograph  out  again,  and  enraged 
myself  uselessly  by  another  look  at  it.  This  time  I  observed, 
what  I  had  not  -noticed  before,  that  there  were  some  lines  of 
writing  (in  a  woman's  hand)  at  the  back  of  the  portraits. 
The  lines  ran  thus  : 

"  To  Major  Fitz-David,  with  two  vases.  From  his  friends, 
S.  and  E.  M." 

Was  one  of  those  two  vases  the  vase  that  had  been  broken  ? 
And  was  the  change  that  I  had  noticed  in  Major  Fitz-David's 
face  produced  by  some  past  association  in  connection  with 
it,  which  in  some  way  affected  me  ?  It  might  or  might  not 
be  so.  I  was  little  disposed  to  indulge  in  speculation  on  this 
topic  while  the  far  more  serious  question  of  the  initials  con- 
fronted me  on  the  back  of  the  photograph. 

"S.  and  E.  M?"  Those  last  two  letters  might  stand  for 
the  initials  of  my  husband's  name — his  true  name — Eustace 
Macallan.  In  this  case  the  first  letter  ("  S.")  in  all  probabil- 


TUB   LAW   AND   TI1E    LADY.  81 

ity  indicated  her  name.  What  right  had  she  to  associate 
herself  with  him  in  that  manner?  I  considered  a  little  — 
my  memory  exerted  itself — I  suddenly  called  to  mind  that 
Eustace  had  sisters.  He  had  spoken  of  them  more  than 
once  in  the  time  before  our  marriage.  Had  I  been  mad 
enough  to  torture  myself  with  jealousy  of  my  husband's  sis- 
ter ?  It  might  well  be  BO  ;  "  S."  might  stand  for  his  sister's 
Christian  name.  I  felt  heartily  ashamed  of  myself  as  this 
new  view  of  the  matter  dawned  on  me.  What  a  wrong  I 
had  done  to  them  both  in  my  thoughts  !  I  turned  the  pho- 
tograph, sadly  and  penitently,  to  examine  the  portraits  again 
with  a  kinder  and  truer  appreciation  of  them. 

I  naturally  looked  now  for  a  family  likeness  between  the 
two  faces. .  There  was  no  family  likeness ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  were  as  unlike  each  other  in  form  vand  expression  as 
faces  could  be.  Was  she  his  sister,  after  all?  I  looked  at 
her  hands,  as  represented  in  the  portrait.  Her  right  hand 
was  clasped  by  Eustace ;  her  left  hand  lay  on  her  lap.  On 
the  third  finger,  distinctly  visible,  there  was  a  wedding-ring. 
Were  any  of  my  husband's  sisters  married  ?  I  had  myself 
asked  him  the  question  when  he  mentioned  them  to  me,  and 
I  perfectly  remembered  that  he  had  replied  in  the  negative. 

Was  it  possible  that  my  first  jealous  instinct  had  led  me 
to  the  right  conclusion  after  all  ?  If  it  had,  what  did  the  as- 
sociation of  the  three  initial  letters  mean  ?  What  did  the 
wedding-ring  mean  ?  Good  Heavens !  was  I  looking  at  the 
portrait  of  a  rival  in  my  husband's  affections — and  was  that 
rival  his  Wife  ? 

I  threw  the  photograph  from  me  with  a  cry  of  horror. 
For  one  terrible  moment  I  felt  as  if  my  reason  was  giving 
way.  I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened,  or  what  I 
should  have  done  next,  if  my  love  for  Eustace  had  not  taken 
the  uppermost  place  among  the  contending  emotions  that 
tortured  me.  That  faithful  love  steadied  my  brain.  That 
faithful  love  roused  the  reviving  influences  of  my  better  and 
nobler  sense.  Was  the  man  whom  I  had  enshrined  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  capable  of  such  base  wickedness  as. the  bare 
idea  of  his  marriage  to  another  woman  implied  ?  No !  Mine 
was  the  baseness,  mine  the  wickedness,  in  having  even  for  a 
moment  thought  it  of  him  ! 

I  picked  up  the  detestable  photograph  from  the  floor,  and 
put  it  back  in  the  book.  I  hastily  closed  the  cupboard  door, 
D  2 


82  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

fetched  the  library  ladder,  and  set  it  against  the  book-case. 
My  one  idea  now  was  the  idea  of  taking  refuge  in  employ- 
ment of  any  sort  from  my  own  thoughts.  I  felt  the  hate- 
ful suspicion  that  had  degraded  me  coming  back  again  in 
spite  of  my  efforts  to  repel  it.  The  books !  the  books  !  my 
only  hope  was  to  absorb  myself,  body  and  soul,  in  the  books. 

I  had  one  foot  on  the  ladder,  when  I  heard  the  door  of  the 
room  open — the  door  which  communicated  with  the  hall. 

I  looked  around,  expecting  to  see  the  Major.  I  saw  in- 
stead the  Major's  future  prima  donna  standing  just  inside 
the  door,  with  her  round  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  me. 

"  I  can  stand  a  good  deal,"  the  girl  began,  coolly,  "  but  I 
can't  stand  this  any  longer." 

"What  is  it  that  you  can't  stand  any  longer?"  I  asked. 

"  If  you  have  been  here  a  minute,  you  have  been  here  two 
good  hours,"  she  went  on.  "All  by  yourself  in  the  Major's 
study.  I  am  of  a  jealous  disposition — lam.  And  I  want  to 
know  what  it  means."  She  advanced  a  few  steps  nearer  to 
me,  with  a  heightening  color  and  a  threatening  look.  "  Is  he 
going  to  bring  you  out  on  the  stage  ?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  He  ain't  in  love  with  you,  is  he  ?" 

Under  other  circumstances  I  might  have  told  her  to  leave 
the  room.  In  my  position  at  that  critical  moment  the  mere 
pi'esence  of  a  human  creature  was  a  positive  relief  to  me. 
Even  this  girl,  with  her  coarse  questions  and  her  uncultivat- 
ed manners,  was  a  welcome  intruder  on  my  solitude :  she 
offered  me  a  refuge  from  myself. 

"  Your  question  is  not  very  civilly  put,"  I  said.  "  Howev- 
er, I  excuse  you.  You  are  probably  not  aware  that  I  am  a 
married  woman." 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  she  retorted.  "  Mar- 
ried or  single,  it's  all  one  to  the  Major.  That  brazen-faced 
hussy  who  calls  herself  Lady  Clarinda  is  married,  and  she 
sends  him  nosegays  three  times  a  week !  Not  that  I  care, 
mind  you,  about  the  old  fool.  But  I've  lost  my  situation  at 
the  railway,  and  I've  got  my  own  interests  to  look  after,  and 
I  don't  know  what  may  happen  if  I  let  other  women  come 
between  him  and  me.  That's  where  the  shoe  pinches,  don't 
you  see  ?  I'm  not  easy  in  my  mind  when  I  see  him  leaving 
you  mistress  here  to  do  just  what  you  like.  No  offense  !  I 
speak  out — I  do.  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  about  all  by 


THE   LAW   A2{D   THE   LADY.  83 

yourself  in  this  room?  How  did  you  pick  up  with  the  Ma- 
jor ?  I  never  heard  him  speak  of  you  before  to-day." 

Under  all  the  surface  selfishness  and  coarseness  of  this 
strange  girl  there  was  a  certain  frankness  and  freedom  which 
pleaded  in  her  favor— to  my  mind,  at  any  rate.  I  answered 
frankly  and  freely  on  my  side. 

"Major  Fitz-David  is  an  old  friend  of  my  husband's,"  I 
said,  "  and  he  is  kind  to  me  for  my  husband's  sake.  He  has 
given  me  permission  to  look  in  this  room — " 

I  stopped,  at  a  loss  how  to  describe  my  employment  in 
terms  which  should  tell  her  nothing,  and  which  should  at  the 
same  time  successfully  set  her  distrust  of  me  at  rest. 

"  To  look  about  in  this  room — for  what  ?"  she  asked.  Her 
eye  fell  on  the  library  ladder,  beside  which  I  was  still  stand- 
ing. "  For  a  book  ?"  she  resumed. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  taking  the  hint.     "  For  a  book." 

"Haven't  you  found  it  yet  ?" 

"  No." 

She  looked  hard  at  me,  undisguisedly  considering  with 
herself  whether  I  were  or  were  not  speaking  the  truth. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  good  sort,"  she  said,  making  up  her 
mind  at  last.  "There's  nothing  stuck-up  about  you.  I'll 
help  you  if  I  can.  I  have  rummaged  among  the  books  here 
over  and  over  again,  and  I  know  more  about  them  than  you 
do.  What  book  do  you  want  ?" 

As  she  put  that  awkward  question  she  noticed  for  the  first 
time  Lady  Clarinda's  nosegay  lying  on  the  side-table  where 
the  Major  had  left  it.  Instantly  forgetting  me  and  my  book, 
this  curious  girl  pounced  like  a  fury  on  the  flowers,  and  act- 
ually trampled  them  under  her  feet ! 

"  There !"  she  cried.  "  If  I  had  Lady  Clarinda  here  I'd 
serve  her  in  the  same  way." 

"What  will  the  Major  say?"  I  asked. 

"  What  do  I  care  ?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  afraid  of  him  f 
Only  last  week  I  broke  one  of  his  fine  gimcracks  up  there, 
and  all  through  Lady  Clarinda  and  her  flowers  !" 

She  pointed  to  the  top  of  the  book-case  —  to  the  empty 
space  on  it  close  by  the  window.  My  heart  gave  a  sudden 
bound  as  my  eyes  took  the  direction  indicated  by  her  finger. 
She  had  broken  the  vase  !  Was  the  way  to  discovery  about 
to  reveal  itself  to  me  through  this  girl?  Not  a  word  would 
pass  my  lips ;  I  could  only  look  at  her. 


84  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

"  Yes  !"  she  said.  "  The  thing  stood  there.  He  knows  how 
I  hate  her  flowers,  and  he  put  her  nosegay  in  the  vase  out 
of  my  way.  There  was  a  woman's  face  painted  on  the  china, 
and  he  told  me  it  was  the  living  image  of  her  face.  It  was 
no  more  like  her  than  I  am.  I  was  in  such  a  rage  that  I  up 
with  the  book  I  was  reading  at  the  time  and  shied  it  at  the 
painted  face.  Over  the  vase  went,  bless  your  heart,  crash  to 
the  floor.  Stop  a  bit !  I  wonder  whether  thafs  the  book 
you  have  been  looking  after?  Are  you  like  me?  Do  you 
like  reading  Trials  ?" 

Trials?  Had  I  heard  her  aright?  Yes:  she  had  said 
Trials. 

I  answered  by  an  affirmative  motion  of  my  head.  I  was 
still  speechless.  The  girl  sauntered  in  her  cool  way  to  the 
fire-place,  and,  taking  up  the  tongs,  returned  with  them  to 
the  book-case. 

"  Here's  where  the  book  fell,"  she  said — "  in  the  space  be- 
tween the  book-case  and  the  wall.  I'll  have  it  out  in  no 
time." 

I  waited  without  moving  a  muscle,  without  uttering  a 
word. 

She  approached  me  with  the  tbngs  in  one  hand  and  with  a 
plainly  bound  volume  in  the  other. 

"  Is  that  the  book  ?"  she  said.    "  Open  it,  and  see." 

I  took  the  book  from  her. 

"  It  is  tremendously  interesting,"  she  went  on.  "  I've  read  it 
twice  over — I  have.  Mind  you,  I  believe  he  did  it,  after  all." 

Did  it  ?  Did  what  ?  What  was  she  talking  about  ?  I 
tried  to  put  the  question  to  her.  I  struggled — quite  vainly 
— to  say  only  these  words :  "  What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

She  seemed  to  lose  all  patience  with  me.  She  snatched 
the  book  out  of  my  hand,  and  opened  it  before  me  on  the 
table  by  which  we  were  standing  side  by  side. 

"  I  declare,  you're  as  helpless  as  a  baby !"  she  said,  con- 
temptuously. "  There  !  Is  that  the  book  ?" 

I  read  the  first  lines  on  the  title-page — 

A   COMPLETE  REPORT 

OP 
THE  TRIAL 

OP 

EUSTACE    MACALLAN. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  85 

I  stopped  and  looked  up  at  her.  She  started  back  from 
me  with  a  scream  of  terror.  I  looked  down  again  at  the 
title-page,  and  read  the  next  lines — 

FOR  THE  ALLEGED  POISONING 


HIS  WIFE. 

There,  God's  mercy  remembered  me.     There,  the  black 
blank  of  a  swoon  swallowed  me  up. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   RETTJBN  TO   LIFE. 

Mr  first  remembrance  when  I  began  to  recover  my  senses 
was  the  remembrance  of  Pain — agonizing  pain,  as  if  every 
nerve  in  my  body  were  being  twisted  and  torn  out  of  me. 
My  whole  being  writhed  and  quivered  under  the  dumb  and 
dreadful  protest  of  Nature  against  the  effort  to  recall  me  to 
life.  I  would  have  given  worlds  to  be  able  to  cry  out — to 
entreat  the  unseen  creatures  about  me  to  give  me  back  to 
death.  How  long  that  speechless  agony  held  me  I  never 
knew.  In  a  longer  or  shorter  time  there  stole  over  me  slow- 
ly a  sleepy  sense  of  relief.  I  heard  my  own  labored  breath- 
ing. I  felt  my  hands  moving  feebly  and  mechanically,  like 
the  hands  of  a  baby.  I  faintly  opened  my  eyes  and  looked 
round  me — as  if  I  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  death, 
and  had  awakened  to  new  senses  in  a  new  world. 

The  first  person  I  saw  was  a  man — a  stranger.  He  moved 
quietly  out  of  my  sight ;  beckoning,  as  he  disappeared,  to 
some  other  person  in  the  room. 

Slowly  and  unwillingly  the  other  person  advanced  to  the 
sofa  on  which  I  lay.  A  faint  cry  of  joy  escaped  me  ;  I  tried 
to  hold  out  my  feeble  hands.  The  other  person  who  was 
approaching  me  was  my  husband ! 

I  looked  at  him  eagerly.  He  never  looked  at  me  in  re- 
turn. With  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  with  a  strange  appear- 
ance of  confusion  and  distress  in  his  face,  he  too  moved  away 
out  of  my  sight.  The  unknown  man  Avhom  I  had  first  no- 
ticed followed  him  out  of  the  room.  I  called  after  him  faint- 


86  -     THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

ly,  "  Eustace !"  He  never  answered ;  he  never  returned. 
With  an  effort  I  moved  my  head  on  the  pillow,  so  as  to 
look  round  on  the  other  side  of  the  sofa.  Another  familiar 
face  appeared  before  me  as  if  in  a  dream.  My  good  old 
Benjamin  was  sitting  watching  me,  with  the  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

He  rose  and  took  my  hand  silently,  in  his  simple,  kindly 
way. 

"Where  is  Eustace?"  I  asked.  "Why  has  he  gone  away 
and  left  me  ?" 

I  was  still  miserably  weak.  My  eyes  wandered  mechanic- 
ally round  the  room  as  I  put  the  question.  I  saw  Major  Fitz- 
David.  I  saw  the  table  on  which  the  singing  girl  had  opened 
the  book  to  show  it  to  me.  I  saw  the  girl  herself,  sitting 
alone  in  a  corner,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  as  if  she 
were  crying.  In  one  mysterious  moment  my  memory  recov- 
ered its  powers.  The  recollection  of  that  fatal  title-page 
came  back  to  me  ir  all  its  horror.  The  one  feeling  that  it 
roused  in  me  now- was  a  longing  to  see  my  husband — to 
throw  myself  into  his  arms,  and  tell  him  how  firmly  I  be- 
lieved in  his  innocence,  how  truly  and  dearly  I  loved  him.  I 
seized  on  Benjamin  with  feeble,  trembling  hands.  "Bring 
him  back  to  me  !"  I  cried,  wildly.  "  Where  is  he  ?  Help  me 
to  get  up !" 

A  strange  voice  answered,  firmly  and  kindly : 

"  Compose  yourself,  madam.  Mr.  Woodville  is  waiting 
until  you  have  recovered,  in  a  room  close  by." 

I  looked  at  him,  and  recognized  the  stranger  who  had  fol- 
lowed my  husband  out  of  the  room.  Why  had  he  returned 
alone  ?  Why  was  Eustace  not  with  me,  like  the  rest  of 
them?  I  tried  to  raise  myself,  and  get  on  my  feet.  The 
stranger  gently  pressed  me  back  again  on  the  pillow.  I  at- 
tempted to  resist  him — quite  uselessly,  of  course.  His  firm 
hand  held  me  as  gently  as  ever  in  my  place. 

"You  must  rest  a  little,"  he  said.  "You  must  take  some 
wine.  If  you  exert  yourself  now  you  will  faint  again." 

Old  Benjamin  stooped  over  me,  and  whispered  a  word  of 
explanation. 

"It's  the  doctor,  my  dear.  You  must  do  as  he  tells 
you." 

The  doctor !  They  had  called  the  doctor  in  to  help  them ! 
I  began  dimly  to  understand  that  my  fainting  fit  must  have 


THE    LAW   AXD   THE   LADY.  87 

presented  symptoms  far  more  serious  than  the  fainting  fits 
of  women  in  general.  I  appealed  to  the  doctor,  in  a  help- 
less, querulous  way,  to  account  to  me  for  my  husband's  ex- 
traordinary absence. 

"Why  did  you  let  him  leave  the  room?"  I  asked.  "If  I 
can't  go  to  him,  why  don't  you  bring  him  here  to  me?" 

The  doctor  appeared  to  be  at  a  loss  how  to  reply  to  me. 
He  looked  at  Benjamin,  and  said, "  Will  you  speak  to  Mrs. 
Woodville?" 

Benjamin,  in  his  turn,  looked  at  Major  Fitz-David,  and 
said,  "Will  you?'1''  The  Major  signed  to  them  both  to  leave 
us.  They  rose  together,  and  went  into  the  front  room,  pull- 
ing the  door  to  after  them  in  its  grooves.  As  they  left  us, 
the  girl  who  had  so  strangely  revealed  my  husband's  secret 
to  me  rose  in  her  corner  and  approached  the  sofa. 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  go  too?"  she  said,  addressing 
Major  Fitz-David. 

"  If  you  please,"  the  Major  answered. 

He  spoke  (as  I  thought)  rather  coldly.  She  tossed  her 
head,  and  turned  her  back  on  him  in  high  indignation.  "I 
must  say 'a  word  for  myself!"  cried  this  strange  creature, 
with  a  hysterical  outbreak  of  energy.  "I  must  say  a  word, 
or  I  shall  burst !" 

With  that  extraordinary  preface,  she  suddenly  turned  my 
way,  and  poured  out  a  perfect  torrent  of  words  on  me. 

"  You  hear  how  the  Major  speaks  to  me  ?"  she  began.  "He 
blames  me — poor  Me — for  every  thing  that  has  happened. 
I  am  as  innocent  as  the  new-born  babe.  I  acted  for  the  best. 
I  thought  you  wanted  the  book.  I  don't  know  now  what 
made  you  faint  dead  away  when  I  opened  it.  And  the  Ma- 
jor blames  Me  !  As  if  it  was  my  fault !  I  am  not  one  of 
the  fainting  sort  myself;  but  I  feel  it,  I  can  tell  you.  Yes  ! 
I  feel  it,  though  I  don't  faint  about  it.  I  come  of  respect- 
able parents — I  do.  My  name  is  Iloighty — Miss  Hoighty. 
I  have  my  own  self-respect;  and  it's  wounded.  I  say  my 
self-respect  is  wounded,  when  I  find  myself  blamed  without 
deserving  it.  You  deserve  it,  if  any  body  does.  Didn't  you 
tell  me  you  were  looking  for  a  book  ?  And  didn't  I  present 
it  to  you  promiscuously,  with  the  best  intentions?  I  think 
you  might  say  so  yourself,  now  the  doctor  has  brought  you 
to  again.  I  think  you  might  speak  up  for  a  poor  girl  who  is 
worked  to  death  with  singing  and  languages  and  what  not — 


•88  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

a  poor  girl  who  has  nobody  else  to  speak  for  her.  I  am  as 
respectable  as  you  are,  if  you  come  to  that.  My  name  is 
Hoighty.  My  parents  ai'e  in  business,"1  and  my  mamma  has 
seen  better  days,  and  mixed  in  the  best  of  company." 

There  Miss  Hoighty  lifted  her  handkerchief  again  to  her 
face,  and  burst  modestly  into  tears  behind  it. 

It  was  certainly  hard  to  hold  her  responsible  for  what  had 
happened.  I  answered  as  kindly  as  I  could,  and  I  attempted 
to  speak  to  Major  Fitz-David  in  her  defense.  He  knew  what 
terrible  anxieties  were  oppressing  me  at  that  moment;  and, 
considerately  refusing  to  hear  a  word,  he  took  the  task  of 
consoling  his  young  prima  donna  entirely  on  himself.  What 
he  said  to  her  I  neither  heard  nor  cared  to  hear:  he  spoke 
in  a  whisper.  It  ended  in  his  pacifying  Miss  Hoighty,  by 
kissing  her  hand,  and  leading  her  (as  he  might  have  led  a 
duchess)  out  of  the  room. 

"  I  hope  that  foolish  girl  has  not  annoyed  you — at  such  a 
time  as  this,"  he  said,  very  earnestly,  when  he  returned  to 
the  sofa.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  grieved  I  am  at  what  has 
happened.  I  was  careful  to  warn  you,  as  you  may  remem- 
ber. Still,  if  I  could  only  have  foreseen — " 

I  let  him  proceed  no  farther.  No  human  forethought 
could  have  pi'ovided  against  what  had  happened.  Besides, 
dreadful  as  the  discovery  had  been,  I  would  rather  'have 
made  it,  and  suffered  under  it,  as  I  was  suffering  now,  than 
have  been  kept  in  the  dark.  I  told  him  this.  And  then  I 
turned  to  the  one  subject  that  was  now  of  any  interest  to 
me — the  subject  of  my  unhappy  husband. 

"  How  did  he  come  to  this  house  ?"  I  asked. 

"He  came  here  with  Mr.  Benjamin  shortly  after  I  re- 
turned," the  Major  replied. 

"  Long  after  I  was  taken  ill  ?" 

"No.  I  had  just  sent  for  the  doctor — feeling  seriously 
alarmed  about  you." 

"  What  brought  him  here  ?  Did  he  return  to  the  hotel 
and  miss  me  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  returned  earlier  than  he  had  anticipated,  and. 
he  felt  uneasy  at  not  finding  you  at  the  hotel." 

"  Did  he  suspect  me  of  being  with  you  ?  Did  he  come 
here  from  the  hotel  ?" 

"  No.  He  appears  to  have  gone  first  to  Mr.  Benjamin  to 
inquire  about  you.  What  he  heard  from  your  old  friend  I 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  89 

can  not  say.     I  only  know  that  Mr.  Benjamin  accompanied 
him  when  he  came  here." 

This  brief  explanation  was  quite  enough  for  me  —  I  un- 
derstood what  had  happened.  Eustace  would  easily  fright- 
en simple  old  Benjamin  about  nry  absence  from  the  hotel; 
and,  once  alarmed,  Benjamin  would  be  persuaded  without 
difficulty  to  repeat  the  few  words  which  had  passed  between 
us  on  the  subject  of  Major  Fitz-David.  My  husband's 
presence  in  the  Major's  house  was  perfectly  explained.  But 
his  extraordinary  conduct  in  leaving  the  room  at  the  very 
time  when  I  was  just  recovering  my  senses  still  remained  to 
be  accounted  for.  Major  Fitz-David  looked  seriously  em- 
barrassed when  I  put  the  question  to  him. 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  explain  it  to  you,"  he  said.  "Eus- 
tace has  surprised  and  disappointed  me." 

He  spoke  very  gravely.  His  looks  told  me  more  than  his 
words  :  his  looks  alarmed  me. 

"Eustace  has  not  quarreled  with  you  ?"  I  said. 

"Oh  no!" 

"  He  understands  that  ymi  have  not  broken  your  promise 
to  him?" 

"  Certainly.  My  young  vocalist  (Miss  Hoighty)  told  the 
doctor  exactly  what  had  happened ;  and  the  doctor  in  her 
presence  repeated  the  statement  to  your  husband." 

"  Did  the  doctor  see  the  Trial  ?" 

"Neither  the  doctor  nor  Mr.  Benjamin  has  seen  the 
Trial.  I  have  locked  it  up;  and  I  have  carefully  kept  the 
terrible  story  of  your  connection  with  the  prisoner  a  se- 
cret from  all  of  them.  Mr.  Benjamin  evidently  has  his 
suspicions.  But  the  doctor  has  no  idea,  and  Miss  Hoigh- 
ty has  no  idea,  of  the  true  cause  of  your  fainting  fit. 
They  both  believe  that  you  are  subject  to  serious  nervous 
attacks,  and  that  your  husband's  name  is  really  Woodville. 
All  that  the  truest  friend  could  do  to  spare  Eustace  I  have 
done.  He  persists,  nevertheless,  in  blaming  me  for  let- 
ting you  enter  my  house.  And  worse,  far  worse  than  this, 
he  persists  in  declaring  that  the  event  of  to-day  has  fa- 
tally estranged  you  from  him.  'There  is  an  end  of  our 
married  life,'  he  said  to  me, 'now  she  knows  that  I  nm* 
the  man  who  was  tried  at  Edinburgh  for  poisonii 
wife  !" 

I  rose  from  the  sofa  in  horror. 


90  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

"  Good  God  !"  I  cried, "  does  Eustace  suppose  that  I  doubt 
his  innocence  ?" 

"  He  denies  that  it  is  possible  for  you  or  for  any  body  to 
believe  in  his  innocence,"  the  Major  replied. 

"Help  me  to  the  door,"  I  said.  "Where  is  he?  I  must 
and  will  see  him  !" 

I  dropped  back  exhausted  on  the  sofa  as  I  said  the  words. 
Major  Fitz-David  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  from  the  bottle 
on  the  table,  and  insisted  on  my  drinking  it. 

"  You  shall  see  him,"  said  the  Major.  "  I  promise  you  that. 
The  doctor  has  forbidden  him  to  leavelithe  house  until  you 
have  seen  him.  Only  wait  a  little  !  My  pjbo.r,  dear  lady,  wait, 
if  it  is- only  for  a  few  minutes,  jintil  youtaTe  stronger." 

I  had  no  choice  but  to-  jH^y^bim.  t  Oh,  those  miserable, 
helpless  niinutes  on-the  sofa!  J^PPnot  write  of  them  with- 
out shuddering  at* the  recollection — even  at  this  distance  of 
.time. 

"  Bring  him  here  !"  I  said.    "  Pray,  pray  bring  him  here  !" 

"  Who  is  to  persuade  him  to  come  back  ?"  asked  the  Ma- 
jor, sadly.  "  How  can  I,  how  can  any  body,  prevail  with  a 
man — a  madman  I  had  almost  said  ! — who  could  leave  you 
at  the  moment  when  you  first  opened  your  eyes  on  him  ?  I 
saw  Eustace  alone  in  the  next  room  while  the  doctor  was  in 
attendance  on  you.  I  tried  to  shake  his  obstinate  distrust 
of  your  belief  in  his  innocence  and  of  my  belief  in  his  inno- 
cence by  every  argument  and  every  appeal  that  an  old  friend 
could  address  to  him.  He  had  but  one  answer  to  give  me. 
Reason  as  I  might,  and  plead  as  I  might,  he  still  persisted  in 
referring  me  to  the  Scotch  Verdict." 

"  The  Scotch  Verdict  ?"  I  repeated.     "  What  is  that  ?" 

The  Major  looked  surprised  at  the  question. 

"  Have  you  .really  never  heard  of  the  Trial  ?"  he  said. 
•  "  Never." 

"I  thought  it  strange,"  he  went  on, "  when  you  told  me 
you  had  found  out  your  husband's  true  name,  that  the  dis- 
covery appeared  to  have  suggested  no  painful  association  to 
your  mind.  It  is  not  more  than  three  years  since  all  En- 
gland was  talking  of  your  husband.  One  can  hardly  wonder 
at  his  taking  refuge,  poor  fellow,  in  an  assumed  name.  Where 
could  you  have  been  at  the  time  ?" 

"  Did  you  say  it  was  three  years  ago  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  91 

"I  think  I  can  explain  my  strange  ignorance  of  what  was 
so  well  known  to  every  one  else.  Three  years  since  my  fa- 
ther was  alive.  I  was  living  with  him  in  a  country-house  in 
Italy — up  in  the  mountains,  near  Siena.  We  never  saw  an 
English  newspaper  or  met  with  an  English  traveler  for  weeks 
and  weeks  together.  It  is  just  possible  that  there  might 
have  been  some  reference  made  to  the  Trial  in  my  father's 
letters  from  England.  If  there  were,  he  never  told  me  of  it. 
Or,  if  he  did  mention  the  case,  I  felt  no  interest  in  it,  and  for- 
got it  again  directly.  Tell  me — what  has  the  Verdict  to  do 
with  my  husband's  horrible  doubt  of  us?  Eustace  is  a  free 
man.  The  Verdict  was  Not  Guilty,  of  course  ?" 

Major  Fitz-David  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Eustace  was  tried  in  Scotland,"  he  said.  "  There  is  a 
verdict  allowed  by  the  Scotch  law,  which  (so  far  as  I  know) 
is  not  permitted  by  the  laws  of  any  other  civilized  country 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  When  the  jury  are  in  doubt  wheth- 
er to  condemn  or  acquit  the  prisoner  brought  before  them, 
they  are  permitted,  in  Scotland,  to  express  that  doubt  by  a 
form  of  compromise.  If  there  is  not  evidence  enough,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  justify  them  in  finding  a  prisonerguilty,  and  not 
evidence  enough,  on  the  other  hand,  to  thoroughly  convince 
them  that  a  prisoner  is  innocent,  they  extricate  themselves 
from  the  difficulty  by  finding  a  verdict  of  Not  Proven." 

"  Was  that  the  Verdict  when  Eustace  was  tried?"  I  asked. 

"yes." 

"The  jury  were  not  quite  satisfied  that  my  husband  was 
guilty?  and  not  quite  satisfied  that  my  husband  was  inno- 
cent? Is  that  what  the  Scotch  Verdict  means?" 

"That  is  what  the  Scotch  Verdict  means.  For  three  years 
that  doubt  about  him  in  the  minds  of  the  jury  who  tried  him 
has  stood  on  public  record." 

Oh,  my  poor  darling  !  my  innocent  martyr !  I  understood 
it  at  last.  The  false  name  in  which  he  had  married  me;  the 
terrible  words  he  had  spoken  when  he  had  warned  me  to  re- 
spect his  secret;  the  still  more  terrible  doubt  that  he  felt  of 
me  at  that  moment — it  was  all  intelligible  to  my  sympathies, 
it  was  all  clear  to  my  understanding,  now.  I  got  up  again 
from  the  sofa,  strong  in  a  daring  resolution  which  the  Scotch 
Vc rdict  had  suddenly  kindled  in  me  —  a  resolution  at  once 
too  sacred  and  too  desperate  to  be  confided,  in  the  first  ill- 
stance,  to  any  other  than  my  husband's  ear. 


92  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

"  Take  me  to  Eustace !"  I  cried.  "  I  am  strong  enough  to 
bear  any  thing  now." 

After  one  searching  look  at  me,  the  Major  silently  offered 
me  his  arm,  and  led  me  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    SCOTCH    VERDICT. 

WE  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  hall.  Major  Fitz-David 
opened  the  door  of  a  long,  narrow  room  built  out  at  the  back 
of  the  house  as  a  smoking-room,  and  extending  along  one 
side  of  the  court-yard  as  far  as  the  stable  wall. 

My  husband  was  alone  in  the  room,  seated  at  the  farther 
end  of  it,  near  the  fire-place.  He  started  to  his  feet  and  faced 
me  in  silence  as  I  entered.  The  Major  softly  closed  the  door 
on  us  and  retired.  Eustace  never  stirred  a  step  to  meet  me. 
I  ran  to  him,  and  threw  my  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed 
him.  The  embrace  was  not  returned ;  the  kiss  was  not  re- 
turned. He  passively  submitted — nothing  more, 

"Eustace!"  I  said,  "I  never  loved  you  more  dearly  than 
I  love  you  at  this  moment !  I  never  felt  for  you  as  I  feel  for 
you  now !" 

He  released  himself  deliberately  from  my  arms.  He  signed 
to  me  with  the  mechanical  courtesy  of  a  stranger  to  take  a 
chair. 

"Thank  you,  Valeria,"  he  answered,  in  cold,  measured 
tones.  "  You  could  say  no  less  to  me,  after  what  has  hap- 
pened ;  and  you  could  say  no  more.  Thank  you." 

"We  were  standing  before  the  fire-place.  He  left  me,  and 
walked  away  slowly  with  his  head  down,  apparently  intend- 
ing to  leave  the  room.  1  followed  him — I  got  before  him — 
I  placed  myself  between  him  and  the  door. 

"  Why  do  you  leave  me  ?"  I  said.  "  Why  do  you  speak  to 
me  in  this  cruel  way  ?  Are  you  angry,  Eustace  ?  My  dar- 
ling, if  you  are  angry,  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me."- 

"  It  is  I  who  ought  to  ask  your  pardon,"  he  replied.  "  I  beg 
you  to  forgive  me,  Valeria,  for  having  made  you  my  wife." 

He  pronounced  those  words  with  a  hopeless,  heart-broken 
humility  dreadful  to  see.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  bosom.  I 
said,  "  Eustace,  look  at  me." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  93 

He  slowly  lifted  his  eyes  to  my  face — eyes  cold  and  clear 
and  tearless — looking  at  me  in  steady  resignation,  in  immov- 
able despair.  In  the  utter  wretchedness  of  that  moment,  I 
was  like  him ;  I  was  as  quiet  and  as  cold  as  my  husband. 
He  chilled,  he  froze  me. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  I  said, "  that  you  doubt  my  belief  in  your 
innocence  ?" 

He  left  the*  question  unanswered.     He  sighed  bitterly  to  • 
himself.    "Poor  woman!"  lie  said,  as  a  stranger  might  have 
said,  pitying  me.     "  Poor  woman  !" 

My  heart  swelled  in  me  as  if  it  would  burst.  I  lifted  my 
hand  from  his  bosom,  and  laid  it  on  his  shoulder  to  support 
myself. 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  pity  me,  Eustace ;  I  ask  you  to  do 
me  justice.  You  are  not  doing  me  justice.  If  you  had  trust- 
ed me  with  the  truth  in  the  days  when  we  first  knew  that 
we  loved  each  other — if  you  had  told  me  all,  and  more  than 
all  that  I  know  now  —  as  God  is  my  witness,  I  would  still 
have  married  you  !  N'oio  do  you  doubt  that  I  believe  you 
are  an  innocent  man  !" 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said.  "  All  your  impulses  are  gen- 
erous, Valeria.  You  are  speaking  generously  and  feeling 
generously.  Don't  blame  me,  my  poor  child,  if  I  look  on  far- 
ther than  you  do  :  if  I  see  what  is  to  come  —  too  surely  to 
come — in  the  cruel  future." 

"  The  cruel  future  !"  I  repeated.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"You  believe  in  my  innocence, Valeria.  The  jury  who 
tried  me  doubted  it  —  and  have  left  that  doubt  on  record. 
What  reason  have  you  for  believing,  in  the  face  of  the  Ver- 
dict, that  I  am  an  innocent  man  ?" 

"I  want  no  reason!  I  believe  in  spite  of  the  jury — in 
spite  of  the  Verdict." 

"  Will  your  friends  agree  with  you  ?  When  your  uncle 
and  aunt  know  what  has  happened  —  and  sooner  or  later 
they  must  know  it  —  what  will  they  say?  They  will  say, 
'He  began  badly;  he  concealed  from  our  niece  that  he  had 
been  wedded  to  a  first  wife ;  he  married  our  niece  under  a 
false  name.  He  may  say  he  is  innocent ;  but  we  have  only 
his  word  for  it.  When  he  was  put  on  his  Trial,  the  Verdict 
was  Not  Proven.  Not  Proven  won't  do  for  us.  If  the  jury 
have  done  him  an  injustice — if  he  is  innocent — let  him  prove 
it.'  That  is  what  the  world  thinks  and  says  of  me.  That  is 


94  THE   LAW    AND   THE   LADY. 

what  your  friends  will  think  and  say  of  me.  The  time  is 
coming,  Valeria,  when  you  —  even  You  —  will  feel  that  your 
friends  have  reason  to  appeal  to  on  their  side,  and  that  you 
have  no  reason  on  yours." 

"  That  time  will  never  come  !"  I  answered,  warmly.  "  You 
wrong  me,  you  insult  me,  in  thinking  it  possible  !" 

He  put  down  my  hand  from  him,  and  drew  back  a  step, 
with  a  bitter  smile. 

"We  have  only  been  married  a  few  days, Valeria.  Your 
love  for  me  is  new  and  young.  Time,  which  wears  away  all 
things,  will  wear  away  the  first  fervor  of  that  love." 

"  Never  !  never !" 

He  drew  back  from  me  a  little  farther  still. 

"Look  at  the  world  around  you,"  he  said.  "  The  happiest 
husbands  and  wives  have  their  occasional  misunderstandings 
and  disagreements;  the  brightest  married  life  has  its  pass- 
ing clouds.  "When  those  days  come  for  tis,  the  doubts  and 
fears  that  you  don't  feel  now  will  find  their  way  to  you  then. 
When  the  clouds  rise  in  our  married  life  —  when  1  say  my 
first  harsh  word,  when  you  make  your  first  hasty  reply  — 
then,  in  the  solitude  of  your  own  room,  in  the  stillness  of 
the  wakeful  night,  you  will  think  of  my  first  wife's  miserable 
death.  You  will  remember  that  I  was  held  responsible  for 
it,  and  that  my  innocence  was  never  proved.  You  will  say 
to  yourself,  '  Did  it  begin,  in  her  time,  with  a  harsh  word 
from  him  and  with  a  hasty  reply  from  her?  Will  it  one^ 
day  end  with  me  as  the  jury  half  feared  that  it  ended  with 
her?'  Hideous  questions  for  a  wife  to  ask  herself!  You 
will  stifle  them ;  you  will  recoil  from  them,  like  a  good  wom- 
an, with  horror.  But  when  we  meet  the  next  morning  you 
will  be  on  your  guard,  and  I  shall  see  it,  and  knoAv  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  what  it  means.  Imbittered  by  that  knowl- 
edge, my  next  harsh  word  may  be  harsher  still.  Your  next 
thoughts  of  me  may  remind  you  more  vividly  and  more 
boldly  that  your  husband  was  once  tried  as  a  poisoner,  and 
that  the  question  of  his  first  wife's  death  was  never  properly 
cleared  up.  Do  you  see  what  materials  for  a  domestic  hell 
are  mingling  for  us  here  ?  Was  it  for  nothing  that  I  warned 
you,  solemnly  warned  you,  to  draw  back,  when  I  found  you 
bent  on  discovering  the  truth  ?  Can  I  ever  be  at  your  bed- 
side now,  when  you  are  ill,  and  not  remind  you,  in  the  most 
innocent  things  I  do,  of  what  happened  at  that  other  bed- 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  95 

side,  in  the  time  of  that  other  woman  whom  I  married  first? 
If  I  pour  out  your  medicine,  I  commit  a  suspicious  action — 
they  say  I  poisoned  her  in  her  medicine.  If  I  bring  you  a 
cup  of  tea,  I  revive  the  remembrance  of  a  horrid  doubt — they 
said  I  put  the  arsenic  in  her  cup  of  tea.  If  I  kiss  you  when 
I  leave  the  room,  I  remind  you  that  the  prosecution  accused 
me  of  kissing  her,  to  save  appearances  and  produce  an  affect 
on  the  nurse.  Can  we  live  together  on  such  terms  as  these  ? 
No  mortal  creatures  could  support  the  misery  of  it.  This 
very  day  I  said  to  you,  *  If  you  stir  a  step  farther  in  this 
matter,  there  is  an  end  of  your  happiness  for  the  rest  of  your 
life.'  You  have  taken  that  step  —  and  the  end  has  come  to 
your  happiness  and  to  mine.  The  blight  that  cankers  and 
.kills  is  on  you  and  on  me  for  the  rest  of  our  lives !" 

So  far  I  had  forced  myself  to  listen  to  him.  At  those  last 
words  the  picture  of  the  future  that  he  was  placing  before 
me  became  too  hideous  to  be  endured.  I  refused  to  hear 
more. 

"You  are  talking  horribly,"  I  said.  "At  your  jige  and  at 
mine,  have  we  done  with  love  and  done  with  hope?  It  is 
blasphemy  to  Love  and  Hope  to  say  it !" 

"  Wait  till  you  have  read  the  Trial,"  he  answered.  "  You 
mean  to  read  it,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Every  word  of  it !  With  a  motive,  Eustace,  which  you 
have  yet  to  know." 

"No  motive  of  yours,  Valeria,  no  love  and  hope  of  yours, 
can  alter  the  inexorable  facts.  My  first  wife  died  poisoned  ; 
and  the  verdict  of  the  jury  has  not  absolutely  acquitted  me 
of  the  guilt  of  causing  her  death.  As  long  as  you  were  ig- 
norant of  that,  the  possibilities  of  happiness  were  always 
within  our  reach.  Now  you  know  it,  I  say  again — our  mar- 
ried life  is  at  an  end." 

"No,"  I  said.  "Now  I  know  it,  our  married  life  has  be- 
gun— begun  with  a  new  object  for  your  wife's  devotion,  with 
a  new  reason  for  your  wife's  love  1" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

I  went  near  to  him* again,  and  took  his  hand. 

"  What  did  you  tell  me  the  world  has  said  of  you  ?''  I 
asked.  "  What  did  you  tell  me  my  friends  would  say  of  you? 
'  Not  Proven  won't  do  for  us.  If  the  jury  have  done  him  au 
injustice — if  he  is  innocent — let  him  prove  it.'  Those  were 
the  words  you  put  into  the  mouths  of  my  friends.  I  adopt 


96  TUB   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

them  for  mine !  -Z"say  Not  Proven  won't  do  for  me.  Prove 
your  right,  Eustace,  to^a  verdict  of  Not  Guilty.  "Why  have 
you  let  three  years  pass  without  doing  it  ?  Shall  I  guess 
why  ?  You  have  waited  for  your  wife  to  help  you.  Here 
she  is,  my  darling,  ready  to  help  you  with  all  her  heart  and 
soul.  Here  she  is,  with  one  object  in  life — to  show  the  world 
and  to  show  the  Scotch  Jury  that  her  husband  is  an  innocent 
man !" 

I  had  roused  myself;  my  pulses  were  throbbing,  my  voice 
rang  through  the  room.  Had  I  roused  him?  What  was 
his  answer? 

"  Read  the  Trial."     That  was  his  answer. 

I  seized  him  by  the  arm.  In  my  indignation  and  my  de- 
spair I  shook  him  with  all  my  strength.  God  forgive  me,  I 
could  almost  have  struck  him  for  the  tone  in  which  he  had 
spoken  and  the  look  that  he  had  cast  on  me ! 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  mean  to  read  the  Trial,"  I  said. 
"  I  mean  to  read  it,  line  by  line,  with  you.  Some  inexcusable 
mistake  has  been  made.  Evidence  in  your  favor  that  might 
have  been  found  has  not  been  found.  Suspicious  circumstances 
have  not  been  investigated.  Crafty  people  have  not  been 
watched.  Eustace !  the  conviction  of  some  dreadful  over- 
sight, committed  by  you  or  by  the  persons  who  helped  you, 
is  firmly  settled  in  my  mind.  The  resolution  to  set  that  vile 
Verdict  right  was  the  first  resolution  that  came  to  me  when 
I  first  heard  of  it  in  the  next  room.  We  will  set  it  right ! 
We  must  set  it  right — for  your  sake,  for  my  sake,  for  the 
sake  of  our  children  if  we  are  blessed  with  children.  Oh,  my 
own  love,  don't  look  at  me  with  those  cold  eyes !  Don't  an- 
swer me  .in  those  hard  tones !  Don't  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
talking  ignorantly  and  madly  of  something  that  can  never  be !" 

Still  I  never  roused  him.  His  next  words  were  spoken 
compassionately  rather  than  coldly — that  was  all. 

"My  defense  was  undertaken  by  the  greatest  lawyers  in 
the  land,"  he  said.  "  After  such  men  have  done  their  utmost, 
and  have  failed — my  poor  Valeria,  what  can  you,  what  can  I, 
do?  We  can  only  submit." 

"  Never !"  I  cried.  "  The  greatest  lawyers  are  mortal  men ; 
the  greatest  lawyers  have  made  mistakes  before  now.  You 
can't  deny  that." 

."Read  the  Trial."  For  the  third  time" he  said  those  cruel 
words,  and  said  no  more. 


THE    LAW    AXD    THE    LADY.  97 

In  utter  despair  of  moving  him — feeling  keenly,  bitterly 
(if  I  must  own  it),  his  merciless  superiority  to  all  that  I  had 
said  to  him  in  the  honest  fervor  of  my  devotion  and  my  love 
— I  thought  of  Major  Fitz-David  as  a  last  resort.  In  the 
disordered  state  of  my  mind  at  that  moment,  it  made  no  dif- 
ference to  me  that  the  Major  had  already  tried  to  reason 
with  him,  and  had  failed.  In  the  face  of  the  facts  I  had  a 
blind  belief  in  the  influence  of  his  old  friend,  if  his  old  friend 
could  only  be  prevailed  upon  to  support  my  view. 

"  Wait  for  me  one  moment,"  I  said.  "I  want  you  to  hear 
another  opinion  besides  mine." 

I  left  him,  and  returned  to  the  study.  Major  Fitz-David 
was  not  there.  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  communication  with 
the  front  room.  It  was  opened  instantly  by  the  Major  him- 
self. The  doctor  had  gone  away.  Benjamin  still  remained 
in  the  room. 

"  Will  you  come  and  speak  to  Eustace  ?"  I  began.  "  If 
you  will  only  say  what  I^want  you  to  say — " 

Before  I  could  add  a  word  more  I  heard  the  house  door 
opened  and  closed.  Major  Fitz-David  and  Benjamin  heard 
it  too.  They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

I  ran  back,  before  the  Major  could  stop  me,  to  the  room  in 
which  I  had  seen  Eustace.  It  was  empty.  My  husband  had 
left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    MAX'S    DECISION". 

MY  first  impulse  was  the  reckless  impulse  to  follow  Eustace 
— openly  through  the  streets. 

The  Major  and  Benjamin  both  opr^psed  this  hasty  resolu- 
tion on  my  part.  They  appealed  to  my  own  sense  of  self-re- 
spect, without  (so  far  as  I  remember  it)  producing  the  slightest 
effect  on  my  mind.  They  were  more  successful  when  they 
entreated  me  next  to  be  patient  for  my  husband's  sake.  In 
mow  to  Eustace,  they  begged  me  to  wait  halt' an  hour.  If 
he  failed  to  return  in  that  time,  they  pledged  themselves  to 
accompany  me  in  search  of  him  to  the  hotel. 

In  mercy  to  Eustace  I  consented  to  wait.  What  I  suf- 
fered under  the  forced  necessity  for  remaining  passive  at  that 
E 


98  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

crisis  in  my  life  no  words  of  mine  can  tell.  It  will  be  better 
if  I  go  on  with  my  narrative. 

Benjamin  was  the  first  to  ask  me  what  had  passed  between 
my  husband  and  myself. 

"  You  may  speak  freely,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  know  what 
has  happened  since  you  have  been  in  Major  Fitz-David's 
house.  No  one  has  told  me  about  it ;  I  found  it  out  for  my- 
self. If  you  remember,  I  was  struck  by  the  name  of 'Macal- 
lan,' when  you  first  mentioned  it  to  me  at  my  cottage.  I 
couldn't  guess  why  at  the  time.  I  know  why  now." 

Hearing  this,  I  told  them  both  unreservedly  what  I  had 
said  to  Eustace,  and  how  he  had  received  it.  To  my  un- 
speakable disappointment,  they  both  sided  Avith  my  husband, 
treating  my  view  of  his  position  as  a  mere  dream.  They 
said  it,  as  he  had  said  it,  "You  have  not  read  the  Trial." 

I  was  really  enraged  with  them.  "The  facts  are  enough 
for  me,"  I  said.  "We  know  he  is  innocent.  Why  is  his 
innocence  not  proved  ?  It  ought  ^o  be,  it  must  be,  it  shall 
be  !  If  the  Trial  tell  me  it  can't  be  done,  I  refuse  to  believe 
the  Trial.  Where  is  the  book,  Major  ?  Let  me  see  for  my- 
self if  his  lawyers  have  left  nothing  for  his  wife  to  do.  Did 
they  love  him  as  I  love  him  ?  Give  me  the  book !" 

Major  Fitz-David  looked  at  Benjamin. 

"  It  will  only  additionally  shock  and  distress  her  if  I  give 
her  the  book,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?" 

I  interposed  before  Benjamin  could  answer. 

"  If  you  refuse  my  request,"  I  said, "  you  will  oblige  me, 
Major,  to  go  to  the  nearest  bookseller  and  tell  him  to  buy  the 
Trial  for  me.  I  am  determined  to  read  it." 

This  time  Benjamin  sided  with  me. 

"Nothing  can  make  matters  worse  than  they  are,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  If  I  may  be  permitted  to  advise,  let  her  have  her 
own  way."  0 

The  Major  rose  and  took  the  book  out  of  the  Italian  cabi- 
net, to  which  he  had  consigned  it  for  safe-keeping. 

"  My  young  friend  tells  me  that  she  informed  you  of  her 
regretable  outbreak  of  temper  a  few  days  since,"  he  said  as 
he  handed  me  the  volume.  "  I  was  not  aware  at  the  time 
what  book  she  had  in  her  hand  when  she  so  far  forgot  her- 
self as  to  destroy  the  vase.  When  I  left  you  in  the  study, 
I  supposed  the  Report  of  the  Trial  to  be  in  its  customary 
place  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  book-case,  and  I  own  I  felt  some 


THE    LAW    AXD    THE    LADY.  99 

curiosity  to  know  whether  you  would  think  of  examining 
that  shelf.  The  broken  vase — it  is  needless  to  conceal  it 
from  you  now — was  one  of  a  pair  presented  to  me  by  your 
husband  and  his  first  wife  only  a  week  before  the  poor  wom- 
an's terrible  death.  I  felt  my  first  presentiment  that  you 
were  on  the  brink  of  discovery  when  I  found  you  looking  at 
the  fragments,  and  I  fancy  I  betrayed  to  you  that  something 
of  the  sort  was  disturbing  me.  You  looked  as  if  you  noticed 
it." 

"  I  did  notice  it,  Major.  And  I  too  had  a  vague  idea  that 
I  was  on  the  way  to  discovery.  Will  you  look  at  your 
watch?  Have  we  waited  half  an  hour  yet?" 

My  impatience  had  misled  me.  The  ordeal  of  the  half-hour 
was  not  yet  at  an  end. 

Slowly  and  more  slowly  the  heavy  minutes  followed  each 
other,  and  still  there  were  no  signs  of  my  husband's  return. 
We  tried  to  continue  our  conversation,  and  failed.  Nothing 
was  audible ;  no  sounds  but  the  ordinary  sounds  of  the  street 
disturbed  the  dreadful  silence.  Try  as  I  might  to  repel  it, 
there  was  one  foreboding  thought  that  pressed  closer  and 
closer  on  my  mind  as  the  interval  of  waiting  wore  its  weary 
way  on.  I  shuddered  as  I  asked  myself  if  our  married  life 
had  come  to  an  end — if  Eustace  had  really  left  me. 

The  Major  saw  what  Benjamin's  slower  perception  had  not 
yet  discovered — that  my  fortitude  was  beginning  to  sink  un- 
der the  unrelieved  oppression  of  suspense, 

"Come  !"  he  said.     "Let  us  go  to  the  hotel." 

It  then  wanted  nearly  five  minutes  to  the  half- hour.  I 
looked  my  gratitude  to  Major  Fitz-David  for  sparing  me 
those  last  minutes  :  I  could  not  speak  to  him  or  to  Benjamin. 
In  silence  we  three  got  into  a  cab  and  drove  to  the  hotel. 

The  landlady  met  us  in  the  hall.  Nothing  had  been  seen 
or  heard  of  Eustace.  There  was  a  letter  waiting  for  me  up- 
stairs on  the  table  in  our  sitting-room.  It  had  been  left  at 
the  hotel  by  a  messenger  only  a  few  minutes  since. 

Trembling  and  breathless,  I  ran  up  the  stairs,  the  two  gen- 
tlemen following  me.  The  address  of  the  letter  was  in  my 
husband's  handwriting.  My  heart  sank  in' me  as  I  looked 
at  the  lines;  there  could  be  but  one  reason  for  his  writing  to 
me.  That  closed  envelope  held  his  farewell  words.  I  sot 
with  the  letter  on  my  lap,  stupefied,  incapable  of  opening  it. 

Kind-hearted  Benjamin  attempted  to  comfort  and  cncour- 


100  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

age  me.  The  Major,  with  his  larger  experience  of  women, 
warned  the  old  man  to  be  silent. 

"  Wait !"  I  heard  him  whisper.  "Speaking  to  her  will  do 
no  good  now.  Give  her  time." 

Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  I  held  out  the  letter  to  him 
as  he  spoke.  Even  moments  might  be  of  importance,  if  Eus- 
tace had  indeed  left  me.  To  give  me  time  might  be  to  lose 
the  opportunity  of  recalling  him. 

"  You  are  his  old  friend,"  I  said.  "  Open  his  letter,  Major, 
and  read  it  for  me." 

Major  Fitz-Dav id  opened  the  letter  and  read  it  through  to 
himself.  When  he  had  done  he  threw  it  on  the  table  with  a 
gesture  which  was  almost  a  gesture  of  contempt. 

"  There  is  but  one  excuse  for  him,"  he  said.  "  The  man  is 
mad." 

Those  words  told  me  all.  I  knew  the  worst ;  and,  know- 
ing it,  I  could  read  the  letter.  It  ran  thus: 

"  MY  BELOVED  VALERIA, — When  you  read  these  lines  you 
read  my  farewell  words.  I  return  to  my  solitary  unfriended 
life — my  life  before  I  knew  you. 

"My  darling,  you  have  been  cruelly  treated.  You  have 
been  entrapped  into  marrying  a  man  who  has  been  publicly 
accused  of  poisoning  his  first  wife — and  who  has  not  been 
honorably  and  completely  acquitted  of  the  charge.  And  you 
know  it ! 

"  Can  you  live  on  terms  of  mutual  confidence  and  mutual 
esteem  with  me  when  I  have  committed  this  fraud,  and  when 
I  stand  toward  yoi£in  this  position  ?  It  was  possible  for  you 
to  live  with  me  happily  while  you  were  in  ignorance  of  the 
truth.  It  is  not  possible,  now  you  know  all. 

"  No  I  the  one  atonement  I  can  make  is — to  leave  yon. 
Your  one  chance  of  future  happiness  is  to  be  disassociated, 
at  once  and  forever,  from  my  dishonored  life.  I  love  you, 
Valeria— truly,  devotedly,  passionately.  But  the  spectre  of 
the  poisoned  woman  rises  between  us.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence that  I  am  innocent  even  of  the  thought  of  harming  my 
first  wife.  My  innocence  has  not  been  proved.  In  this  world 
my  innocence  can  never  be  proved.  You  are  young  and  lov- 
ing, and  generous  and  hopeful.  Bless  others,  Valeria,  with 
your  rare  attractions  and  your  delightful  gifts.  They  are  of 
no  avail  with  me.  The  poisoned  woman  stands  between  us. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  101 

If  you  live  with  me  no\v,  you  will  see  her  as  I  see  her.     That 
torture  shall  never  be  yours.     I  love  you.     I  leave  you. 

"Do  you  think  me  hard  and  cruel?  Wait  a  little,  and 
time  will  change  that  way  of  thinking.  As  the  years  go  on 
you  will  say  to  yourself,  '  Basely  as  he  deceived  me,  there 
was  some  generosity  in  him.  He  was  man  enough  to  release 
me  of  his  own  free  will.' 

"  Yes,  Valeria,  I  fully,  freely  release  you.  If  it  be  possible 
to  annul  our  marriage,  let  it  be  done.  Recover  your  liberty 
by  any  means  that  you  may  be  advised  to  employ ;  and  be 
assured  beforehand  of  my  entire  and  implicit  submission. 
My  lawyers  have  the  necessary  instructions  on  this  subject. 
Your  uncle  has  only  to  communicate  with  them,  and  I  think 
he  will  be  satisfied  of  my  resolution  to  do  you  justice.  The 
one  interest  that  I  have  now  left  in  life  is  my  interest  in  your 
welfare  and  your  happiness  in  the  time  to  come.  Your  wel- 
fare and  your  happiness  are  no  longer  to  be  found  in  your 
union  with  Me. 

"  I  can  write  no  more.  This  letter  will  wait  for  you  at  the 
hotel.  It  will  be  useless  to  attempt  to  trace  me.  I  know  my 
own  weakness.  My  heart  is  all  yours :  I  might  yield  to  you 
if  I  let  you  see  me  again. 

"  Show  these  lines  to  your  uncle,  and  to  any  friends  whose 
opinions  you  may  value.  I  have  only  to  sign  my  dishonored 
name,  and  every  one  will  understand  and  applaud  my  motive 
for  writing  as  I  do.  The  name  justifies — amply  justifies — 
the  letter.  Forgive  and  forget  me.  Farewell. 

"EUSTACE  MACALLAN." 

In  those  words  he  took  his  leave  of  me.  \Ve  had  then 
been  married — six  days. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  WOMAN'S  ANSWER. 

THUS  far  I  have  written  of  myself  with  perfect  frankness, 
and,  I  think  I  may  fairly  add,  with  some  courage  as  well. 
My  frankness  fails  me  and  my  Courage  fails  me  when  I  look 
back  to  my  husband's  farewell  letter,  and  try  to  recall  the 
storm  of  contending  passions  that  it  roused  in  my  mind. 


102  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

No !  I  can  not  tell  the  truth  about  myself — I  dare  not  tell 
the  truth  about  myself— at  that  terrible  time.  Men !  con- 
sult your  observation  of  women,  and  imagine  what  I  felt ; 
women !  look 'into  your  own  hearts,  and  see  what  I  felt,  for 
yourselves. 

What  I  did,  when  my  mind  was  quiet  again,  is  an  easier 
matter  to  deal  with.  I  answered  my  husband's  letter.  My 
reply  to  him  shall  appear  in  these  pages.  It  will  show,  in 
some  degree,  what  effect  (of  the  lasting  sort)  his  desertion 
of  me  produced  on  my  mind.  It  will  also  reveal  the  motives 
that  sustained  me,  the  hopes  that  animated  me,  in  the  new 
and  strange  life  which  my  next  chapters  must  describe. 

I  was  removed  from  the  hotel  in  the  care  of  my  fatherly 
old  friend,  Benjamin.  A  bedroom  was  prepared  for  me  in 
his  little  villa.  There  I  passed  the  first  night  of  my  separa- 
tion from  my  husband.  Toward  the  morning  my  weary  brain 
got  some  rest — I  slept. 

At  breakfast-time  Major  Fitz-David  called  to  inquire  about 
me.  He  had  kindly  volunteered  to  go  and  speak  for  me  to 
my  husband's  lawyers  on  the  preceding  day.  They  had  ad- 
mitted that  they  knew  where  Eustace  had  gone,  but  they 
declared  at  the  same  time  that  they  were  positively  forbid- 
den to  communicate  his  address  to  any  one.  In  other  re- 
spects their  "  instructions  "  in  relation  to  the  wife  of  their 
client  were  (as  they  were  pleased  to  express  it)  "  generous 
to  a  fault."  I  had  only  to  write  to  them,  and  they  would 
furnish  me  with  a  copy  by  return  of  post. 

This  was  the  Major's  news.  He  refrained,  with  the  tact 
that  distinguished  him,  from  putting  any  questions  to  me 
beyond  questions  relating  to  the  state  of  my  health.  These 
answered,  he  took  his  leave  of  me  for  that  day.  He  and 
Benjamin  had  a  long  talk  together  afterward  in  the  garden 
of  the  villa. 

I  retired  to  my  room  and  wrote  to  my  uncle  Starkweather, 
telling  him  exactly  what  had  happened,  and  inclosing  him  a 
copy  of  my  husband's  letter.  This  done,  I  went  out  for  a 
little  while  to  breathe  the  fresh  air  and  to  think.  I  was  soon 
weary,  and  went  back  again  to  my  room  to  rest.  My  kind 
old  Benjamin  left  me  at  perfect  liberty  to  be  alone  as  long 
as  I  pleased.  Toward  the  afternoon  I  began  to  feel  a  little 
more  like  my  old  self  again.  I  mean  by  this  that  I  could 


THE  LAW  AXD  THE  LADY.  103 

think  of  Eustace  without  bursting  out  crying,  and  could 
speak  to  Benjamin  without  distressing  and  frightening  the 
dear  old  man. 

That  night  I  had  a  little  more  sleep.  The  next  morning  I 
was  strong  enough  to  confront  the  first  and  foremost  duty 
that  I  now  owed  to  myself— the  duty  of  answering  my  hus- 
band's letter. 

I  wrote  to  him  in  these  words : 

"  I  am  still  too  weak  and  weary,  Eustace,  to  write  to  you 
at  any  length.  But  my  mind  is  clear.  I  have  formed  my 
own  opinion  of  you  and  your  letter ;  and  I  know  what  I* 
mean  to  do  now  you  have  left  me.  Some  women,  in  my 
situation,  might  think  that  you  had  forfeited  all  right  to  their 
confidence.  I  don't  think  that.  So  I  write  and  tell  you 
what  is  in  my  mind  in  the  plainest  and  fewest  words  that  I 
can  use. 

"You  say  you  love  me — and  you  leave  me.  I  don't  un- 
derstand loving  a  woman  and  leaving  her.  For  my  part,  in 
spite  of  the  hard  things  you  have  said  and  written  to  me, 
and  in  spite  of  the  cruel  manner  in  which  you  have  left  me, 
I  love  you — and  I  won't  give  you  up.  No !  As  long  as  I 
live  I  mean  to  live  your  wife. 

"  Does  this  surprise  you  ?  It  surprises  me.  If  ano^ier 
woman  wrote  in  this  manner  to  a  man  who  had  behavexl  to 
her  as  you  have  behaved,  I  should  be  quite  at  a  loss  to  ac- 
count for  her  conduct.  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
my  own  conduct.  I  ought  to  hate  you,  and  yet  I  can't  help 
loving  you.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself;  but  so  it  is. 

"  You  need  feel  no  fear  of  my  attempting  to  find  out  where 
you  are,  and  of  my  trying  to  persuade  you  to  return  to  me. 
I  am  not  quite  foolish  enough  to  do  that.  You  are  not  in  a 
fit  state  of  mind  to  return  to  me.  You  are  all  wrong,  all 
over,  from  head  to  foot.  When  you  get  right  again,  I  am 
vain  enough  to  think  that  you  will  return  to  me  of  your  own 
accord.  And  shall  I  be  weak  enough  to  forgive  you  ?  Yes  ! 
I  shall  certainly  be  weak  enough  to  forgive  you. 

"lint  how  are  you  to  get  right  again? 

"  I  have  puzzled  my  brains  over  this  question  by  night  and 
by  day,  and  my  opinion  is  that  you  will  never  get  right  again 
unless  I  help  you; 

"How  am  I  to  help  you? 


104  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"That  question  is  easily  answered.  What  the  Law  has 
failed  to  do  for  you,  your  Wife  must  do  for  you.  Do  you 
remember  what  I  said  when  we  were  together  in  the  back 
room  at  Major  Fitz-David's  house  ?  I  told  you  that  the  first 
thought  that  came  to  me,  when  I  heard  what  the  Scotch  jury 
had  done,  was  the  thought  of  setting  their  vile  Verdict  right. 
Well!  Your  letter  has  fixed  this  idea  more  firmly  in  my 
mind  than  ever.  The  only  chance  that  I  can  see  of  winning 
you  back  to  me,  in  the  character  of  a  penitent  and  loving 
husband,  is  to  change  that  underhand  Scotch  Verdict  of  Not 
Proven  into  an  honest  English  Verdict  of  Not  Guilty. 

"Are  you  surprised  at  the  knowledge  of  the  law  which 
this  way  of  writing  betrays  in  an  ignorant  woman?  I  have 
been  learning,  my  dear:  the  Law  and  the  Lady  have  begun 
by  understanding  one  another.  In  plain  English,  I  have 
looked  into  Ogilvie's  Imperial  Dictionary,  and  Ogilvie  tells 
me,  *  A  verdict  of  Not  Proven  only  indicates  that,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  jury,  there  is  a  deficiency  in  the  evidence  to 
convict  the  prisoner.  A  verdict  of  Not  Guilty  imports  the 
jury's  opinion  that  the  prisoner  is  innocent.'  Eustace,  that 
shall  be  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  general,  and  of  the  Scotch 
jury  in  particular,  in  your  case.  To  that  one  object  I  dedi- 
cate my  life  to  come,  if  God  spare  me ! 

"^Who  will  help  me,  when  I  need  help,  is  more  than  I  yet 
know.  There  was  a  time  when  I  had  hoped  that  we  should 
go  hand  in  hand  together  in  doing  this  good  work.  That 
hope  is  at  an  end.  I  no  longer  expect  you,  or  ask  you,  to 
help  me.  A  man  who  thinks  as  you  think  can  give  no'  help 
to  any  body — it  is  his  miserable  condition  to  have  no  hope. 
So  be  it !  I  will  hope  for  two,  and  will  work  for  two ;  and  I 
shall  find  some  one  to  help  me — never  fear — if  I  deserve  it. 

"  I  will  say  nothing  about  my  plans — I  have  not  read  the 
Trial  yet.  It  is  quite  enough  for  me  that  I  know  you  are 
innocent.  When  a  man  is  innocent,  there  must  be  a  way  of 
proving  it :  the  one  thing  needful  is  to  find  the  way.  Sooner 
or  later,  with  or  without  assistance,  I  shall  find  it.  Yes  !  be- 
fore I  know  any  single  particular  of  the  Case,  I  tell  you  pos- 
itively— I  shall  find  it ! 

"You  may  laugh  over  this  blind  confidence  on  my  part,  or 
you  may  cry  over  it.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  whether  I  am 
an  object  for  ridicule  or  an  object  for  pity.  Of  one  thing 
only  I  am  certain :  I  mean  to  win  you  back,  a  man  vindicated 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  105 

before  the  world,  without  a  stain  on  his  character  or  his  name 
— thanks  to  his  wife. 

"  Write  to  me  sometimes, Eustace ;  and  believe  me,  through 
all  the  bitterness  of  this  bitter  business,  your  faithful  and 
loving  VALERIA." 

There  was  my  reply !  Poor  enough  as  a  composition  (I 
could  write  a  much  better  letter  now),  it  had,  if  I  may  pre- 
sume to  say  so,  one  merit.  It  was  the  honest  expression  of 
what  I  really  meant  and  felt. 

I  read  it  to  Benjamin.  He  held  up  his  hands  with  his  cus- 
tomary gesture  when  he  was  thoroughly  bewildered  and  dis- 
mayed. "It  seems  the  rashest  letter  that  ever  was  written," 
said  the  dear  old  man.  "I  never  heard,  Valeria,  of  a  woman 
doing  what  you  propose  to  do.  Lord  help  us  !  the  new  gen- 
eration is  beyond  my  fathoming.  I  wish  your  uncle  Stark- 
weather was  here :  I  wonder  what  he  would  say  ?  Oh,  dear 
me,  what  a  letter  from  a  wife  to  a  husband !  Do  you  really 
mean  to  send  it  to  him  ?" 

I  added  immeasurably  to  my  old  friend's  surprise  by  not 
even  employing  the  post-office.  I  wished  to  see  the  "  instruc- 
tions" which  my  husband  had  left  behind  him.  So  I  took 
the  letter  to  his  lawyers  myself. 

The  firm  consisted  of  two  partners.  They  both  received 
me  together.  One  was  a  soft,  lean  man,  with  a  sour  smile. 
The'  other  was  a  hard,  fat  man,  with  ill-tempered  eyebrows. 
I  took  a  great  dislike  to  both  of  them.  On  their  side,  they 
appeared  to  feel  a  strong  distrust  of  me.  We  began  by  dis- 
agreeing. They  showed  me  my  husband's  "instructions," 
providing,  among  other  things,  for  the  payment  of  one  clear 
half  of  his  income  as  long  as  he  lived  to  his  wife.  I  positive- 
ly refused  to  touch  a  farthing  of  his  money. 

The  lawyers  were  unaffectedly  shocked  and  astonished 
at  this  decision.  Nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  happened 
before  in  the  whole  course  of  their  experience.  They  argued 
and  remonstrated  with  me.  The  partner  with  the  ill-tem- 
pered eyebrows  wanted  to  know  what  my  reasons  were. 
The  partner  with  the  sour  smile  reminded  his  colleague 
satirically  that  I  was  a  lady,  and  had  therefore  no  reasons  to 
give.  I  only  answered, "  Be  so  good  as  to  forward  my  let- 
ter, gentlemen,"  and  left  them. 

I  have  no  wish  to  claim  any  credit  to  myself  in  these  pages 
K  •_' 


106  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

which  I  do  not  honestly  deserve.  The  truth  is  that  my  pride 
forbade  me  to  accept  help  from  Eustace,  now  that  he  had 
left  me.  My  own  little  fortune  (eight  hundred  a  year)  had 
been  settled  on  myself  when  I  married.  It  had  been  more 
than  I  wanted  as  a  single  woman,  and  I  was  resolved  that  it 
should  be  enough  for  me  now.  Benjamin  had  insisted  on 
my  considering  his  cottage  as  my  home.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances, the  expenses  in  which  my  determination  to  clear 
my  husband's  character  might  involve  me  were  the  only  ex- 
penses for  which  I  had  to  provide.  I  could  afford  to  be  in- 
dependent, and  independent  I  resolved  that  I  would  be. 

While  I  am  occupied  in  confessing  my  weakness  and  my 
errors,  it  is  only  right  to  add  that,  dearly  as  I  still  loved  my 
unhappy,  misguided  husband,  there  was  one  little  fault  of  his 
which  I  found  it  not  easy  to  forgive. 

Pardoning  other  things,  I  could  not  quite  pardon  his  con- 
cealing from  me  that  he  had  been  married  to  a  first  wife. 
Why  I  should  have  felt  this  so  bitterly  as  I  did,  at  certain 
times  and  seasons,  I  am  not  able  to  explain.  Jealousy  was 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  I  suppose.  And  yet  I  was  not  conscious 
of  being  jealous — especially  when  I  thought  of  the  poor 
creature's  miserable  death.  Still,  Eustace  ought  not  to  have 
kept  that  secret  from  me,  I  used  to  think  to  myself,  at  odd 
times  when  I  was  discouraged  and  out  of  temper.  What 
would  he  have  said  if  I  had  been  a  widow,  and  had  never 
told  him  of  it? 

It  was  getting  on  toward  evening  when  I  returned  to  the 
cottage.  Benjamin  appeared  to  have  been  on  the  lookout 
for  me.  Before  I  could  ring  at  the  bell  he  opened  the  gar- 
den gate. 

"  Prepare  yourself  for  a  surprise,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  Your 
uncle,  the  Reverend  Doctor  Starkweather,  has  arrived  from 
the  North,  and  is  waiting  to  see  you.  He  received  your 
letter  this  morning,  and  he  took  the  first  train  to  London  as 
soon  as  he  had  read  it." 

In  another  minute  my  uncle's  strong  arms  were  round  me. 
In  my  forlorn  position,  I  felt  the  good  vicar's  kindness,  in 
traveling  all  the  way  to  London  to  see  me,  very  gratefully. 
It  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes — tears,  without  bitterness, 
that  did*me  good. 

"I "have  come,  my  dear  child,  to  take  you  back  to  your 
old  home."  he  said.  "  No  words  can  tell  how  fervently  I 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  107 

wish  you  had  never  left  your  aunt  and  me.  Well !  well !  we 
won't  talk  about  it.  The  mischief  is  done,  and  the  next  thing 
is  to  mend  it  as  well  as  we  can.  If  I  could  only  get  within 
arm's-length  of  that  husband  of  yours,  Valeria  —  There  ! 
there  !  God  forgive  me,  I  am  forgetting  that  I  am  a  clergy- 
man. What  shall  I  forget  next,  I  wonder?  By-the-bye, 
your  aunt  sends  you  her  dearest  love.  She  is  more  super- 
stitious than  ever.  This  miserable  business  doesn't  surprise 
her  a  bit.  She  says  it  all  began  with  your  making  that  mis- 
take about  your  name  in  signing  the  church  register.  You 
remember?  Was  there  ever  such  stuff?  Ah,  she's  a  foolish 
woman,  that  wife  of  mine !  But  she  means  well — a  good 
soul  at  bottom.  She  would  have  traveled  all  the  way  here 
along  with  me  if  I  would  have  let  her.  I  said, '  No ;  you 
stop  at  home,  and  look  after  the  house  and  the  parish,  and 
I'll  bring  the  child  back.'  You  shall  have  your  old  bedroom, 
Valeria,  with  the  white  curtains,  you  know,  looped  up  with 
blue  !  We  will  return  to  the  Vicarage  (if  you  can  get  up  in 
time)  by  the  nine-forty  train  to-morrow  morning." 

Return  to  the  Vicarage !  How  could  I  do  that  ?  How 
could  I  hope  to  gain  what  was  now  the  one  object  of  my  ex- 
istence if  I  buried  myself  in  a  remote  north-country  village? 
It  was  simply  impossible  for  me  to  accompany  Doctor  Stark- 
weather on  his  return  to  his  own  house. 

"I  thank  you,  uncle,  with  all  my  heart,"  I  said.  "But  I 
am  afraid  I  can't  leave  London  for  the  present." 

"  You  can't  leave  London  for  the  present  ?"  he  repeated. 
"  What  does  the  girl  mean,  Mr.  Benjamin  ?" 

Benjamin  evaded  a  direct  reply. 

"  She  is  kindly  welcome  here,  Doctor  Starkweather,"  he 
said,  "  as  long  as  she  chooses  to  stay  with  me." 

"  That's  no  answer,"  retorted  my  uncle,  in  his  rough-and- 
ready  way.  He  turned  to  me.  "  What  is  there  to  keep  you 
in  London  ?"  he  asked.  "  You  used  to  hate  London.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  some  reason  ?" 

It  was  only  due  to  my  good  guardian  and  friend  that  I 
should  take  him  into  my  confidence  sooner  or  later.  '  There 
was  no  help  for  it  but  to  rouse  my  courage,  and  tell  him 
frankly  what  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  do.  The  vicar  listened 
in  breathless  dismay.  He  turned  to  Benjamin,  with  distress 
as  well  as  surprise  in  his  face,  when  I  had  done. 

"  God  help  her !"  cried  the  worthy  man.  "  The  poor  thing's 
troubles  have  turned  her  brain  !" 


108  TUB  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"I  thought  you  would  disapprove  of  it,  sir,"  said  Ben- 
jamin, in  his  mild  and  moderate  way.  "  I  confess  I  disap- 
prove of  it  myself." 

"  '  Disapprove  of  it '  isn't  the  word,"  retorted  the  vicar. 
"  Don't  put  it  in  that  feeble  way,  if  you  please.  An  act  of 
madness  —  that's  what  it  is,  if  she  really  mean  what  she 
says."  He  turned  my  way,  and  looked  as  he  used  to  look 
at  the  afternoon  service  when  he  was  catechising  an  obsti- 
nate child.  "You  don't  mean  it,"  he  said,  "do  you?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  forfeit  your  good  opinion,  uncle,'1 1  replied. 
"But  I  must  own  that  I  do  certainly  mean  it." 

"In  plain  English,"  retorted  the  vicar,  "  you  are  conceited 
enough  to  think  that  you  can  succeed  where  the  greatest 
lawyers  in  Scotland  have  failed.  They  couldn't  prove  this 
man's  innocence,  all  working  together.  And  you  are  going 
to  prove  it  single-handed  ?  Upon  my  word,  you  are  a  won- 
derful woman,"  cried  my  uncle,  suddenly  descending  from 
indignation  to  irony.  "  May  a  plain  country  parson,  who 
isn't  used  to  lawyers  in  petticoats,  be  permitted  to  ask  how 
you  mean  to  do  it  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  begin  by  reading  the  Trial,  uncle." 

"Nice  reading  for  a  young  woman!  You  will  be  want- 
ing a  batch  of  nasty  French  novels  next.  Well,  and  when 
you  have  read  the  Trial — what  then  ?  Have  you  thought 
of  that  ?" 

"Yes,  uncle ;  I  have  thought  of  that.  I  shall  first  try  to 
form  some  conclusion  (after  reading  the  Trial)  as  to  the 
guilty  person  who  really  committed  the  crime.  Then  I  shall 
make  out  a  list  of  the  witnesses  who  spoke  in  my  husband's 
defense.  I  shall  go  to  those  witnesses,  and  tell  them  who  I 
am  and  what  I  want.  I  shall  ask  all  sorts  of  questions 
which  grave  lawyers  might  think  it  beneath  their  dignity  to 
put.  I  shall  be  guided,  in  what  I  do  next,  by  the  answers 
I  receive.  And  I  shall  not  be  discouraged,  no  matter  what 
difficulties  are  thrown  in  my  way.  Those  are  my  plans, 
uncle,  so  far  as  I  know  them  now." 

The  vicar  and  Benjamin  looked  at  each  other  as  if  they 
doubted  the  evidence  of  their  own  senses.  The  vicar  spoke. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  said, "  that  you  are  going 
roaming  about  the  country  to  throw  yourself  on  the  mercy 
of  strangers,  and  to  risk  whatever  rough  reception  you  may 
get  in  the  course  of  your  travels?  You  \  A  young  woman  ! 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  109 

Deserted  by  your  husband  !  With  nobody  to  protect  you  ! 
Mr.  Benjamin,  do  you  hear  her?  And  can  you  believe  your 
ears  ?  I  declare  to  Heaven  /don't  know  whether  I  am  awake 
or  dreaming.  Look  at  her — just  look  at  her  !  There  she 
sits  as  cool  and  easy  as  if  she  had  said  nothing  at  all  ex- 
traordinary, and  was  going  to  do  nothing  out  of  the  common 
way !  What  am  I  to  do  with  her? — that's  the  serious  ques- 
tion— what  on  earth  am  I  to  do  with  her?" 

"  Let  me  try  my  experiment,  uncle,  rash  as  it  may  look  to 
you,"  I  said.  "  Nothing  else  will  comfort  and  support  me ; 
and  God  knows  I  want  comfort  and  support.  Don't  think 
me  obstinate.  I  am  ready  to  admit  that  there  arc  serious 
difficulties  in  my  way." 

The  vicar  resumed  his  ironical  tone. 

"  Oh  !"  he  said.  "  You  admit  that,  do  you  ?  Well,  there 
is  something  gained,  at  any  rate." 

"  Many  another  woman  before  me,"  I  went  on,  "  has  faced 
serious  difficulties,  and  has  conquered  them — for  the  sake  of 
the  mq,n  she  loved." 

Doctor  Starkweather  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  with  tlje  air 
of  a  person  whose  capacity  of  toleration  had  reached  its  last 
limits. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  still  in  love  with  Mr. 
Eustace  Macallan  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"The  hero  of  the  great  Poison  Trial?"  pursued  my  uncle. 
"The  man  who  has  deceived  and  deserted  you?  You  love 
him?" 

"  I  love  him  more  dearly  than  ever." 

"  Mr.  Benjamin,"  said  'the  vicar,  "  if  she  recover  her  senses 
between  this  and  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  send  her 
with  her  luggage  to  Loxley's  Hotel,  where"  I  am  now  staying. 
Good-night,  Valeria.  I  shall  consult  with  your  aunt  as  to 
what  is  to  be  done  next.  I  have  no  more  to  say." 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  uncle,  at  parting." 

"  Oh  yes,  I'll  give  you  a  kiss.  Any  thing  you  like, Valeria. 
I  shall  be  sixty-five  next  birthday;  and  I  thought  I  knew 
something  of  women,  at  my  time  of  life.  It  seems  I  know 
nothing.  Loxley's  Hotel  is  the  address, Mr.  Benjamin.  Good- 
night." 

Benjamin  looked  very  grave  when  he  returned  to  me  after 
accompanying  Doctor  Starkweather  to  the  garden  gate. 


110  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Pray  be  advised,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  ask  you 
to  consider  my  view  of  this  matter  as  good  for  much.  But 
your  uncle's  opinion  is  surely  worth  considering?" 

I  did  not  reply.  It  was  useless  to  say  any  more.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  be  misunderstood  and  discouraged,  and  to 
bear  it.  "  Good-night,  my  dear  old  friend,"  was  all  I  said 
to  Benjamin.  Then  I  turned  away — I  confess  with  the  tears 
in  my  eyes — and  took  refuge  in  my  bedroom. 

The  window-blind  was  up,  and  the  autumn  moonlight 
shone  brilliantly  into  the  little  room. 

•  As  I  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out,  the  memory  came 
to  me  of  another  moonlight  night,  when  Eustace  and  I  were 
walking  together  in  the  Vicarage  garden  before  our  marriage. 
It  was  the  night  of  which  I  have  written,  many  pages  back, 
when  there  were  obstacles  to  our  union,  and  when  Eustace 
had  offered  to  release  me  from  my  engagement  to  him.  I  saw 
the  dear  face  again  looking  at  me  in  the  moonlight ;  I  heard 
once  more  his  words  and  mine.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  had  said, 
"  for  having  loved  you — passionately,  devotedly  loved  you. 
Forgive  me,  and  let  me  go." 

And  I  had  answered,  "  Oh,  Eustace,  I  am  only  a  woman — 
don't  madden  me !  I  can't  live  without  you.  I  must  and 
will  be  your  wife  !"  And  now,  after  marriage  had  united  us, 
we  were  parted !  Parte'd,  still  loving  each  other  as  passion- 
ately as  ever.  And  why  ?  Because  he  had  been  accused  of 
a  crime  that  he  had  never  committed,  and  because  a  Scotch 
jury  had  failed  to  see  that  he  was  an  innocent  man. 

I  looked  at  the  lovely  moonlight,  pursuing  these  remem- 
brances and  these  thoughts.  A  new  ardor  burned  in  me. 
"  No !"  I  said  to  myself.  "  Neither  relations  nor  friends 
shall  prevail  on  me  to  falter  and  fail  in  my  husband's  cause. 
The  assertion  of  his  innocence  is  the  work  of  my  life;  I  will 
begin  it  to-night." 

I  drew  down  the  blind  and  lit  the  candles.  In  the  quiet 
night,  alone  and  unaided,  I  took  my  first  step  on  the  toilsome 
and  terrible  journey  that  lay  before  me.  From  the  title-page 
to  the  end,  without  stopping  to  rest  and  without  missing  a 
word,  I  read  the  Trial  of  my  husband  for  the  murder  of  his 
wife. 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  Ill 


•PARTIL 

PARADISE  REGAINED. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  TRIAL. 

THE    PRELIMINARIES. 

LET  me  confess  another  weakness,  on  my  part,  before  I  be- 
gin the  Story  of  the  Trial.  I  caii  not  prevail  upon  myself 
to  copy,  for  the  second  time,  the  horrible  title-page  which 
holds  up  to  public  ignominy  my  husband's  name.  I  have 
copied  it  once  in  my  tenth  chapter.  Let  once  be  enough. 

Turning  to  the  second  page  of  the  Trial,  I  found  a  Note, 
assuring  the  reader  of  the  absolute  correctness  of  the  Report 
of  the  Proceedings.  The  compiler  described  himself  as  hav- 
ing enjoyed  certain  special  privileges.  Thus,  the  presiding 
Judge  had  himself  revised  his  charge  to  the  jury.  And, 
again,  the  chief  lawyers  for  the  prosecution  and  the  defense, 
following  the  Judge's  example,  had  revised  their  speeches  for 
and  against  the  prisoner.  Lastly,  particular  care  had  been 
taken  to  secure  a  literally  correct  report  of  the  evidence  given 
by  the  various  witnesses.  It  was  some  relief  to  me  to  discov- 
er this  Note,  and  to  be  satisfied  at  the  outset  that  the  Story 
of  the  Trial  was,  in  every  particular,  fully  and  truly  given. 
fThe  next  page  interested  me  more  nearly  still.  It  enu- 
merated the  actors  in  the  Judicial  Drama  —  the  men  who 
held  in  their  hands  my  husband's  honor  and  my  husband's 
life.  Here  is  the  List : 

THE  LORD  JUSTICE  CLEKK,) 

LOKD  DRUMFEXXICK,  >  Judges  on  the  Bench. 

LORD  NOBLEKIUK,  ) 

THE  LORD  ADVOCATE  (Mintlaw).  )  „ 

DONALD  DREW,  Esquire  (Advocate-Depute),  } Coun8el  for  thc  Crown' 

MR.  JAMES  ARLISS,  W.  S.,  Agent  for  the  Crown. 

Tin:  DEAN  OF  FACULTY  (Farmichael),  >  Counsel  for  thc  Panel  (other- 

.AI.KX  \NDER  CROCKET,  Esquire  (Advocate),  |     wise  the  Prisoner). 

Mu.  TMOKXIKHAXK,  VV.  8.,  ) 

Aecnte  for  thc  Pancl- 


112  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

}  The  Indictment  against  the  prisoner  then  followed.  I 
snail  not  copy  the  uncouth  language,  full  of  needless  repe- 
titions (and,  if  I  know  any  thing  of  the  subject,  not  guiltless 
of  bad  grammar  as  well),  in  which  my  innocent  husband  was 
solemnly  and  falsely  accused  of  poisoning  his  first  wife.  The 
less  there  is  of  that  false  and  hateful  Indictment  on  this  page, 
the  better  and  truer  the  page  will  look,  to  my  eyes/"1 

To  be  brief,  then,  Eustace  Macallan  was  "  indicted"lind  ac- 
cused, at  the  instance  of  David  Mintlaw,  Esquire,  Her  Majes- 
ty's Advocate,  for  Her  Majesty's  interest,"  of  the  Murder  of 
his  Wife  by  poison,  at  his  residence  called  Gleninch,  in  the 
county  of  Mid-Lothian.  The  poison  was  alleged  to  have 
been  wickedly  and  feloniously  given  by  the  prisoner  to  his 
wife  Sara,  on  two  occasions,  in  the  form  of  arsenic,  adminis- 
tered in  tea,  medicine,  "  or  other  article  or  articles  of  food  or 
drink,  to  the  prosecutor  unknown."  It  was  further  declared 
that  the  prisoner's  wife  had  died  of  the  poison  thus  adminis- 
tered by  her  husband,  on  one  or  other,  or  both,  of  the  stated 
occasions  ;  and  that  she  was  thus  murdered  by  her  husband. 
The  next  paragraph  asserted  that  the  said  Eustace  Macallan, 
taken  before  John  Daviot,  Esquire,  advocate,  Sheriff  -Substi- 
tute of  Mid-Lothian,  did  in  his  presence  at  Edinburgh  (on 
a  given  date,  viz.,  the  29th  of  October),  subscribe  a  Declara- 
tion stating  his  innocence  of  the  alleged  crime :  this  Decla- 
ration being  reserved  in  the  Indictment — together  with  cer- 
tain documents,  papers,  and  articles,  enumerated  in  an  In- 
ventory— to  be  used  in  evidence  against  the  prisoner.  The 
Indictment  concluded  by  declaring  that,  in  the  event  of  the 
offense  charged  against  the  prisoner  being  found  proven  by 
the  Verdict,  he,  the  said  Eustace  Macallan, "ought  to  be  pun- 
ished with  the  pains  of  the  law,  to  deter  others  from  commit- 
ting like  crimes  in  all  time  coming." 

So  much  for  the  Indictment !  I  have  done  with  it — and  I 
am  rejoiced  to  be  done  with  it. 

An  Inventory  of  papers,  documents,  and  articles  followed 
at  great  length  on  the  next  three  pages.  This,  in  its  turn,  was 
succeeded  by  the  list  of  the  witnesses,  and  by  the  names  of 
the  jurors  (fifteen  in  number)  balloted  for  to  try  the  case. 
And  then,  at  last,  the  Report  of  the  Trial  began.  It  resolved 
itself,  to  my  mind,  into  three  great  Questions.  As  it  ap- 
peared to  me  at  the  time,  so  let  me  present  it  here. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  113 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FIRST    QUESTION — DID   THE    WOMAN   DIE    POISONED  ? 

THE  proceedings  began  at  ten  o'clock.  The  prisoner  was 
placed  at  the  Bar,  before  the  High  Court  of  Justiciary,  at 
Edinburgh.  He  bowed  respectfully  to  the  Bench,  and  plead- 
ed Not  Guilty,  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  observed  by  every  one  present  that  the  prisoner's 
face  betraved  traces  of  acute  mental  suffering.  He  was 
deadly  pale.  His  eyes  never  once  wandered  to  the  crowd 
in  the  Court.  When  certain  witnesses  appeared  against  him, 
lie  looked  at  them  with  a  momentary  attention.  At  other 
times  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  When  the  evidence 
touched  on  his  wife's  illness  and  death,  he  was  deeply  affect- 
ed, and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  It  was  a  subject 
of  general  remark  and  general  surprise  that  the  prisoner,  in 
this  case  (although  a  man),  showed  far  less  self-possession 
than  the  last  prisoner  tried  in  that  Court  for  murder  —  a 
woman,  who  had  been  convicted  on  overwhelming  evidence. 
There  were  persons  present  (a  small  minority  only)  who  con- 
sidered this  want  of  composure  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner 
to  be  a  sign  in  his  favor.  Self-possession,  in  his  dreadful  po- 
sition, signified,  to  their  minds,  the  stark  insensibility  of  a 
heartless  and  shameless  criminal,  and  afforded  in  itself  a  pre- 
sumption, not  of  innocence,  but  of  guilt. 

The  first  witness  called  was  John  Daviot,  Esquire,  Sheriff- 
Substitute  of  Mid-Lothian.  He  was  examined  by  the  Lord 
Advocate  (as  counsel  for  the  prosecution) ;  and  said  : 

"The  prisoner  was  brought  before  me  on  the  present  charge. 
He  made  and  subscribed  a  Declaration  on  the  29th  of  Octo- 
ber. It  was  freely  and  voluntarily  made,  the  prisoner  hav- 
ing  been  first  duly  warned  and  admonished." 

1  laving  identified  the  Declaration,  the  Sheriff-Substitute 
— being  cross-examined  by  the  Dean  of  Faculty  (as  counsel 
for  the  defense) — continued  his  evidence  in  these  words: 

"The  charge  against  the  prisoner  was  Murder.  This  was 
communicated  to  him  before  he  made  the  Declaration.  The 
questions  addressed  to  the  prisoner  were  put  partly  by  me, 


114  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

partly  by  another  officer,  the  procurator-fiscal.  The  answers 
were  given  distinctly,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  without 
reserve.  The  statements  put  forward  in  the  Declaration  were 
all  made  in  answer  to  questions  asked  by  the  procurator-fis- 
cal or  by  myself." 

A  clerk  in  the  Sheriff-Clerk's  office  then  officially  produced 
the  Declaration,  and  corroborated  the  evidence  of  the  wit- 
ness who  had  preceded  him. 

The  appearance  of  the  next  witness  created  a  marked 
sensation  in  the  Court.  This  was  no  less  a  person  than  the 
nurse  who  had  attended  Mrs.  Macallan  in  her  last  illness — 
by  name  Christina  Ormsay. 

After  the  first  formal  answers,  the  nurse  (examined  by  the 
Lord  Advocate)  proceeded  to  say  : 

"I  was  first  sent  for  to  attend  the  deceased  lady  on  the 
7th  of  October.  She  was  then  suffering  from  a  severe  cold, 
accompanied  by  a  rheumatic  affection  of  the  left  knee-joint. 
Previous  to  this  I  understood  that  her  health  had  been  fair- 
ly good.  She  was  not  a  very  difficult  person  to  nurse  when 
you  got  used  to  her,  and  understood  how  to  manage  her. 
The  main  difficulty  was  caused  by  her  temper.  She  was  not 
a  sullen  person ;  she  was  headstrong  and  violent — easily  ex- 
cited to  fly  into  a  passion,  and  quite  reckless  in  her  fits  of 
anger  as  to  what  she  said  or  did.  At  such  times  I  really 
hardly  think  she  knew  what  she  was  about.  My  own  idea  is 
that  her  temper  was  made  still  more  irritable  by  unhappi- 
ness  in  her  married  life.  She  was  far  from  being  a  reserved 
person.  Indeed,  she  was  disposed  (as  I  thought)  to  be  a  lit- 
tle too  communicative  about  herself  and  her  troubles  with 
persons  like  me  who  were  beneath  her  in  station.  She  did 
not  scruple,  for  instance,  to  tell  me  (when  we  had  been  long 
enough  together  to  get  used  to  each  other)  that  she  was 
very  unhappy,  and  fretted  a  good  deal. about  her  husband. 
One  night,  when  she  was  wakeful  and  restless,  she  said  to 
me—" 

The  Dean  of  Faculty  here  interposed,  speaking  on  the  pris- 
oner's behalf.  He  appealed  to  the  Judges  to  say  whether 
such  loqse  and  unreliable  evidence  as  this  was  evidence  which 
could  be  received  by  the  Court. 

The  Lord  Advocate  (speaking  on  behalf  of  the  Crown) 
claimed  it  as  his  right  to  produce  the  evidence.  It  was  of 
the  utmost  importance  in  this  case  to  show  (on  the  testi- 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  115 

mony  of  an  unprejudiced  witness)  on  what  terms  the  hus- 
band and  wife  were  living.  The  witness  was  a  most  respect- 
able woman.  She  had  won,  and  deserved,  the  confidence  of 
the  unhappy  lady  whom  she  attended  on  her  death-bed. 

After  briefly  consulting  together,  the  Judges  unanimously 
decided  that  the  evidence  could  not  be  admitted.  What  the 
witness  had  herself  seen  and  observed  of  the  relations  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife  was  the  only  evidence  that  they 
could  receive. 

The  Lord  Advocate  thereupon  continued  his  examination 
of  the  witness.  Christina  Ormsay  resumed  her  evidence  as 
follows : 

"My  position  as  nurse  led  necessarily  to  my  seeing  more 
of  Mrs.  Macallan  than  any  other  person  in  the  house.  I  am 
able  to  speak  from  experience  of  many  things  not  known  to 
others  who  were  only  in  her  room  at  intervals. 

"  For  instance,  I  had  more  than  one  opportunity  of  per- 
sonally observing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Macallan  did  not  live 
together  very  happily.  I  can  give  you  an  example  of  this, 
not  drawn  from  what  others  told  me,  but  from  what  I  no- 
ticed for  myself. 

f]"  Toward  the  latter  part  of  my  attendance  on  Mrs.  Mac- 
allan, a  young  widow  lady  named  Mrs.  Beauly — a  cousin  of 
Mr.  Macallan's  —  came  to  stay  at  Gleninch.  Mrs.  Macallan 
was  jealous  of  this  lady;  and  she  showed  it  in  my  presence 
only  the  day  before  her  death,  when  Mr.  Macallan  came  into 
her  room  to  inquire  how  she  had  passed  the  night.  'Oh,' 
she  said,  '  never  mind  how /have  slept !  What  do  you  care 
whether  I  sleep  well  or  ill  ?  How  has  Mrs.  Beauly  passed 
the  night  ?  Is  she  more  beautiful  than  ever  this  morning  ? 
Go  back  to  her  — pray  go  back  to  her!  Don't  waste  your 
time  with  me  !'  Beginning  in  that  manner,  she  worked  her- 
self into  one  of  her  furious  rages.  I  was  brushing  her  hair 
at  the  time ;  and  feeling  that  my  presence  was  an  impropri- 
ety under  the  circumstances,  I  attempted  to  leave  the  room. 
She  forbade  me  to  go.  Mr.  Macallan  felt,  as  I  did,  that  my 
duty  was  to  withdraw,  and  he  said  so  in  plain  words.  Mrs. 
Macallan  insisted  on  my  staying  in  language  so  insolent  to 
her  husband  that  he  said,  '  If  you  can  not  control  yourself, 
either  the  nurse  leaves  the  room  or  I  do.'  She  refused  to 
yield  even  then.  'A  good  excuse,'  she  said,  'for  getting 
back  to  Mrs.  Beauly.  Go !'  lie  took  her  at  her  word,  and 


116  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

walked  out  of  the  room.  He  had  barely  closed  the  door  be- 
fore she  began  reviling  him  to  me  in  the  most  shocking  man- 
ner. She  declared,  among  other  things  she  said  of  him,  that 
the  news  of  all  others  which  he  would  be  most  glad  to  hear 
would  be  the  news  of  her  death.  I  ventured,  quite  respect- 
fully, on  remonstrating  with  her.  She  took  up  the  hair-brush 
and  threw  it  at  me,  and  then  and  there  dismissed  me  from 
my  attendance  on  her.  I  left  her,  and  waited  below  until 
her  fit  of  passion  had  worn  itself  out.  Then  I  returned  to 
my  place  at  the  bedside,  and  for  a  while  things  went  on 
again  as  usual. 

"It  may  not  be  amiss  to  add  a  word  which  may  help  to 
explain  Mrs.  Macallan's  jealousy  of  her  husband's  cousin. 
Mrs.  Macallan  was  a  very  plain  woman.  She  had  a  cast  in 
one  of  her  eyes,  and  (if  I  may  use  the  expression)  one  of  the 
most  muddy,  blotchy  complexions  it  was  ever  my  misfortune 
to  see  in  a  person's  face.  Mrs.  Beauly,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  most  attractive  lady.  Her  eyes  were  universally  ad- 
mired, and  she  had  a  most  beautifully  clear  and  delicate 
color.  Poor  Mrs.  Macallan  said  of  her,  most  untruly,  that 
she  painted. 

"  No ;  the  defects  in  the  complexion  of  the  deceased  lady 
were  not  in  any  way  attributable  to  her  illness.  I  should 
call  them  born  and  bred  defects  in  herself. 

"Her  illness,  if  I  am  asked  to  describe  it,  I  should  say  was 
troublesome — nothing  more.  Until  the  last  day  there  were 
no  symptoms  in  the  least  degree  serious  about  the  malady 
that  had  taken  her.  Her  rheumatic  knee  was  painful,  of 
course — acutely  painful,  if  you  like — when  she'  moved  it ;  and 
the  confinement  to  bed  was  irksome  enough,  no  doubt.  But 
otherwise  there  was  nothing  in  the  lady's  condition,  before 
the  fatal  attack  came,  to  alarm  her  or  any  body  about  her. 
She  had  her  books  and  her  writing  materials  on  an  invalid 
table,  which  worked  on  a  pivot,  and  could  be  arranged  in 
any  position  most  agreeable  to  her.  At  times  she  read  and 
wrote  a  good  deal.  At  other  times  she  lay  quiet,  thinking 
her  own  thoughts,  or  talking  with  me,  and  with  one  or  two 
lady  friends  in  the  neighborhood  who  came  regularly  to  see 
her. 

"  Her  writing,  so  far  as  I  knew,  was  almost  entirely  of  the 
poetical  sort.  She  was  a  great  hand  at  composing  poetry. 
On  one  occasion  only  she  showed  me  some  of  her  poems.  I 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  117 

am  no  judge  of  such  things.  Her  poetry  was  of  the  dis- 
mal kind,  despairing  about  herself,  and  wondering  why  she 
had  ever  been  born,  and  nonsense  like  that.  Her  husband 
came  in  more  than  once  for  some  hard  hits  at  his  cruel  heart 
and  his  ignorance  of  his  wife's  merits.  In  short,  she  vented 
her  discontent  with  her  pen  as  well  as  with  her  tongue. 
There  were  times — and  pretty  often  too — when  an  angel  from 
heaven  would  have  failed  to  have  satisfied  Mrs.  Macallan. 

"Throughout  the  period  of  her  illness  the  deceased  lady 
occupied  the  same  room — a  large  bedroom  situated  (like  all 
the  best  bedrooms)  on  the  first  floor  of  the  house. 

"Yes:  the  plan  of  the  room  now  shown  to  me  is  quite  ac- 
curately taken,  according  to  my  remembrance  of  it.  One 
door  led  into  the  great  passage,  or  corridor,  on  which  all  the 
doors  opened.  A  second  door,  at  one  side  (marked  B  on  the 
plan),  led  to  Mr.  Macallan's  sleeping-room.  A  third  door,  on 
the  opposite  side  (marked  C  on  the  plan),  communicated  with 
a  little  study,  or  book-room,  used,  as  I  was  told,  by  Mr.  Mac- 
allan's mother  when  she  was  staying  at  Gleninch,but  seldom 
or  never  entered  by  any  one  else.  Mr.  Macallan's  mother 
was  not  at  Gleninch  while  I  was  there.  The  door  between 
the  bedroom  and  this  study  was  locked,  and  the  key  was 
taken  out.  I  don't  know  who  had  the  key,  or  whether  there 
were  more  keys  than  one  in  existence.  The  door  was  never 
opened  to  my  knowledge.  I  only  got  into  the  study,  to  look 
at  it  along  with  the  housekeeper,  by  entering  through  a  sec- 
ond door  that  opened  onto  the  corridor. 

"  I  beg  to  say  that  I  can  speak  from  my  own  knowledge 
positively  about  Mrs.  Macallan's  illness,  and  about  the  sud- 
den change  which  ended  in  her  death.  By  the  doctor's  ad- 
vice I  made  notes  at  the  time  of  dates  and  hours,  and  such 
like.  I  looked  at  my  notes  before  coming  here.  .  ,it> 

"From  the  7th  of  October,  when  I  was  first  called  in  to 
nurse  her,  to  the  20th  of  the  same  month,  she  slowly  but 
steadily  improved  in  health.  Her  knee  was  still  painful,  no 
doubt;  but  the  inflammatory  look  of  it  was  disappearing. 
As  to  the  other  symptoms,  except  weakness  from  lying  in 
bed,  and  irritability  of  temper,  there  was  really  nothing  the 
matter  with  her.  She  slept  badly,  I  ought  perhaps  to  add. 
But  we  remedied  this  by  means  of  composing  draughts  pre- 
scribed for  that  purpose  by  the  doctor. 

"  On  the  morning  of  the  21st,  at  a  few  minutes  past  six,  I 


118  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

got  my  first  alarm  that  something  was  going  wrong  with 
Mrs.  Macallan. 

"  I  was  awoke  at  the  time  I  have  mentioned  by  the  ring- 
ing of  the  hand-bell  which  she  kept  on  her  bed-table.  Let 
me  say  for  myself  that  I  had  only  fallen  asleep  on  the  sofa  in 
the  bedroom  at  past  two  in  the  morning  from  sheer  fatigue. 
Mrs.  Macallan  was  then  awake.  She  was  in  one  of  her  bad 
humors  with  me.  I  had  tried  to  prevail  on  her  to  let  me  re- 
move her  dressing-case  from  her  bed-table,  after  she  had  used 
it  in  making  her  toilet  for  the  night.  It  took  up  a  great  deal 
of  room ;  and  she  could  not  possibly  want  it  again  before  the 
morning.  But  no ;  she  insisted  on  my  letting  it  be.  There 
was  a  glass  inside  the  case ;  and,  plain  as  she  was,  she  never 
wearied  of  looking  at  herself  in  that  glass.  I  saw  that  she 
was  in  a  bad  state  of  temper,  so  I  gave  her  her  way,  and  let 
the  dressing-case  be.  Finding  that  she  was  too  sullen  to 
speak  to  me  after  that,  and  too  obstinate  to  take  her  com- 
posing draught  from  me  when  I  offered  it,  I  laid  me  down 
on  the  sofa  at  her  bed  foot,  and  fell  asleep,  as  I  have  said. 

"The  moment  her  bell  rang  I  was  up  and  at  the  bedside, 
ready  to  make  myself  useful. 

"I  asked  what  was  the  matter  with  her.  She  complained 
of  faintness  and  depression,  and  said  she  felt  sick.  I  inquired 
if  she  had  taken  any  thing  in  the  way  of  physic  or  food  while 
I  had  been  asleep.  She  answered  that  her  husband  had  come 
in  about  an  hour  since,  and,  finding  her  still  sleepless,  had 
himself  administered  the  composing  draught.  Mr.  Macallan 
(sleeping  in  the  next  room)  joined  us  while  she  was  speaking. 
He  too  had  been  aroused  by  the  bell.  He  heard  what  Mrs. 
Macallan  said  to  me  about  the  composing  draught,  and  made 
no  remark  upon  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  alarmed 
a*  his  wife's  faintness.  I  suggested  that  she  should  take  a 
little  wine,  or  brandy  and  water.  She  answered  that  she 
could  swallow  nothing  so  strong  as  wine  or  brandy,  having 
a  burning  pain  in  her  stomach  already.  I  put  my  hand  on 
her  stomach — quite  lightly.  She  screamed  when  I  touched 
her. 

"This  symptom  alarmed  us.  We  went  to  the  village  for 
the  medical  man  who  had  attended  Mrs.  Macallan  during 
her  illness :  one  Mr.  Gale. 

"The  doctor  seemed  no  better  able  to  account  for  the 
change  for  the  worse  in  his  patient  than  we  were.  Hearing 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  119 

her  complain  of  thirst,  he  gave  her  some  milk.  Not  long 
after  taking  it  she  was  sick.  The  sickness  appeared  to  re- 
lieve her.  She  soon  grew  drowsy  and  slumbered.  Mr.  Gale 
left  us,  with  strict  injunctions  to  send  for  him  instantly  if  she 
was  taken  ill  again. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort  happened  ;  no  change  took  place  for 
the  next  three  hours  or  more.  She  roused  up  toward  half- 
past  nine  and  inquired  about  her  husband.  I  informed  her 
that  he  had  returned  to  his  own  room,  and  asked  if  I  should 
send  for  him.  She  said  'No.'  I  asked  next  if  she  would  like 
any  thing  to  eat  or  drink.  She  said  'No'  again,  in  rather  a 
vacant,  stupefied  way,  and  then  told  me  to  go  down-stairs 
and  get  my  breakfast.  On  my  way  down  I  met  the  house- 
keeper. She  invited  me  to  breakfast  with  her  in  her  room, 
instead  of  in  the  servants'  hall  as  usual.  I  remained  with  the 
housekeeper  but  a  short  time — certainly  not  more  than  half 
an  hour. 

"  Coming  np-stairs  again,!  met  the  under-housemaid  sweep- 
ing on  one  of  the  landings. 

"The  girl  informed  me  that  Mrs.  Macallan  had  taken  a 
cup  of  tea  during  my  absence  in  the  housekeeper's  room. 
Mr.  Macallan's  valet  had  ordered  the  tea  for  his  mistress  by 
his  master's  directions.  The  under-housemaid  made  it,  and 
took  it  up-stairs  herself  to  Mrs.  Macallan's  room.  Her  mas- 
ter, she  said,  opened  the  door  when  she  knocked,  and  took 
the  tea-cup  from  her  with  his  own  hand.  He  opened  the 
door  widely  enough  for  her  to  see  into  the  bedroom,  and  to 
notice  that  nobody  was  with  Mrs.  Macallan  but  himself. 

"After  a  little  talk  with  the  under-housemaid,  I  returned 
to  the  bedroom.  No  one  was  there.  Mrs.  Macallan  was  ly- 
ing perfectly  quiet,  with  her  face  turned  away  from  me  on 
the  pillow.  Approaching  the  bedside,  I  kicked  against  some- 
thing on  the  floor.  It  was  a  broken  tea-cup.  I  said  to  Mrs. 
Macallan, 'How  comes  the  tea-cup  to  be  broken,  ma'am  ?' 
She  answered,  without  turning  toward  me,  in  an  odd,  muffled 
kind  of  voice,  'I  dropped  it.'  'Before  you  drank  your  tea, 
ma'am  ?'  I  asked.  '  No,'  she  said  ;  '  in  handing  the  cup  back 
to  Mr.  Macallan,  after  I  had  done.'  I  had  put  my  question, 
wishing  to  know,  in  case  she  had  spilled  the  tea  when  she- 
dropped  the  cup,  whether  it  would  be  necessary  to  get  her 
any  more.  I  am  quite  sure  T  re-member  correctly  my  question 
and  her  answer.  I  inquired  next  if  she  had  been  long  alone. 


120  THE  LAW  AXD  THE  LADY. 

She  said,  shortly,  'Yes ;  I  have  been  trying  to  sleep.'  I  said, 
'Do  you  feel  pretty  comfortable?'  She  answered,  'Yes,' 
again.  All  this  time  she  still  kept  her  face  sulkily  turned 
from  me  toward  the  wall.  Stooping  over  her  to  arrange  the 
bedclothes,  I  looked  toward  her  table.  The  writing  materi- 
als which  were  always  kept  on  it  were  disturbed,  and  there 
was  wet  ink  on  one  of  the  pens.  I  said, '  Surely  you  haven't 
been  writing,  ma'am  ?'  '  Why  not  ?'  she  said ;  '  I  couldn't 
sleep.'  'Another  poem?'  I  asked.  She  laughed  to  herself 
— a  bitter,  short  laugh.  '  Yes,'  she  said,  '  another  poem.' 
'  That's  good,'  I  said ;  '  it  looks  as  if  you  were  getting  quite 
like  yourself  again.  We  sha'n't  want  the  doctor  any  more 
to-day.'  She  made  no  answer  to  this,  except  an  impatient 
sign  with  her  hand.  I  didn't  understand  the  sign.  Upon 
that  she  spoke  again,  and  crossly  enough,  too — 'I  want  to 
be  alone  ;  leave  me.' 

"  I  had  no  choice  but  to  do  as  I  was  told.  To  the  best  of 
my  observation,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  and 
nothing  for  the  nurse  to  do.  I  put  the  bell-rope  within  reach 
of  her  hand,  and  I  Avent  down-stairs  again. 

"  Half  an  hour  more,  as  well  as  I  can  guess  it,  passed.  I 
kept  within  hearing  of  the  bell ;  but  it  never  rang.  I  was 
not  quite  at  my  ease — without  exactly  knowing  why.  That 
odd,  muffled  voice  in  which  she  had  spoken  to  me  hung  on  my 
mind,  as  it  were.  I  was  not  quite  satisfied  about  leaving  her 
alone  for  too  long  a  time  together — and  then,  again,  I  was 
unwilling  to  risk  throwing  her  into  one  of  her  fits  of  passion 
by  going  back  before  she  rang  for  me.  It  ended  in  my  vent- 
uring into  the  room  on  the  ground-floor  called  the  Morning- 
Room,  to  consult  Mr.  Macallan.  He  was  usually  to  be  found 
there  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day. 

"  On  this  occasion,  however,  when  I  looked  into  the  Morn- 
ing-Room it  was  empty. 

"At  the  same  moment  I  heard  the  master's  voice  on  the 
terrace  outside.  I  went  out,  and  found  him  speaking  to  one 
Mr.  Dexter,  an  old  friend  of  his,  and  (like  Mrs.  Beauly)  a 
guest  staying  in  the  house.  Mr.  Dexter  was  sitting  at  the 
window  of  his  room  up-stairs  (he  was  a  cripple,  and  could 
only  move  himself  about  in  a  chair  on  wheels),  arid  Mr.  Mac- 
allan was  speaking  to  him  from  the  terrace  below. 

"  '  Dexter !'  I  heard  Mr.  Macallan  say.  '  Where  is  Mrs. 
Beauly?  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  her?' 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  121 

"Mr.  Dexter  answered,  in  his  quick,  off-hand  way  of  speak- 
ing, '  Not  I.  I  know  nothing  about  her.' 

"Then  I  advanced,  and,  begging  pardon  for  intruding,  I 
mentioned  to  Mr.  Macallan  the  difficulty  I  was  in  about  go- 
ing back  or  not  to  his  wile's  room  without  waiting  until  she 
rang  for  me.  Before  he  could  advise  me  in  the  matter,  the 
footman  made  his  appearance  and  informed  me  that  Mrs. 
Macallan's  bell  was  then  ringing — and  ringing  violently. 

"  It  was  then  close  on  eleven  o'clock.  As  fast  as  I  could 
mount  the  stairs  I  hastened  back  to  the  bedroom. 

"  Before  I  opened  the  door  I  heard  Mrs.  Macallan  groan- 
ing. She  was  in  dreadful  pain ;  feeling  a  burning  heat  in 
the  stomach  and  in  the  throat,  together  with  the  same  sick- 
ness which  had  troubled  her  in  the  early  morning.  Though 
no  doctor,  I  could  see  in  her  face  that  this  second  attack  was 
of  a  far  more  serious  nature  than  the  first.  After  ringing 
the  beil  for  a  messenger  to  send  to  Mr.  Macallan,  I  ran  to  the 
door  to  see  if  any  of  the  servants  happened  to  be  within  call. 

"The  only  person  I  saw  in  the  corridor  was  Mrs.  Beauly. 
She  was  on  her  way  from  her  own  room,  she  said,  to  inquire 
after  Mrs.  Macallan's  health.  I  said  to  her, 'Mrs.  Macallan 
is  seriously  ill  again,  ma'am.  Would  you  please  tell  Mr. 
Macallan,  and  send  for  the  doctor  ?'  She  ran  down-stairs  at 
once  to  do  as  I  told  her. 

"  I  had  not  been  long  back  at  the  bedside  when  Mr.  Mac- 
allan and  Mrs.  Beauly  both  came  in  together.  Mrs.  Macal- 
lan cast  a  strange  look  on  them  (a  look  I  can  not  at  all  de- 
scribe), and  bade  them  leave  her.  Mrs.  Beauly,  looking  very 
much  frightened,  withdrew  immediately.  Mr.  Macallan  ad- 
vanced a  step  or  two  nearer  to  the  bed.  His  wife  looked  at 
him  again  in  the  same  strange  way,  and  cried  out — half  as 
if  she  was  threatening  him,  half  as  if  she  was  entreating  him 
— 'Leave  me  with  the  nurse.  Go!'  He  only  waited  to  say. 
to  me  in  a  whisper, '  The  doctor  is  sent  for,'  and  then  he  left 
the  room. 

"Before  Mr.  Gale  arrived  Mrs.  Macallan  was  violently  sick. 

What  came  from  her  was  muddy  and  frothy,  and  faintly 

streaked  with  blood.     When  Mr.  Gale  saw  it  he  looked  very 

serious.    I  heard  him  say  to  himself, '  What  does  this  mean  V 

He  did  his  best  to  relieve  Mrs.  Macallan,  but  with  no  good 

result  that  I  could  see.     After  a  time  she  seemed  to  suffer 

Then  more  sickness  came  on.    Then  there  was  another 

F 


122  THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

intermission.  Whether  she  was  suffering  or  not,  I  observed 
that  her  hands  and  feet  (whenever  I  touched  them)  remained 
equally  cold.  Also,  the  doctor's  report  of  her  pulse  was  al- 
ways the  same — '  very  small  and  feeble.'  I  said  to  Mr.  Gale, 
'  What  is  to  be  done,  sir  ?'  And  Mr.  Gale  said  to  me,  '  I 
won't  take  the  responsibility  on  myself  any  longer;  I  must 
have  a  physician  from  Edinburgh.' 

''  The  fastest  horse  in  the  stables  at  Gleninch  was  put  into 
a  dog-cart,  and  the  coachman  drove  away  full  speed  to  Edin- 
burgh to  fetch  the  famous  Doctor  Jerome. 

"  While  we  were  waiting  for  the  physician,  Mr.  Macallan 
came  into  his  wife's  room  with  Mr.  Gale.  Exhausted  as  she 
was,  she  instantly  lifted  her  hand  and  signed  to  him  to  leave 
her.  He  tried  by  soothing  words  to  persuade  her  to  let  him 
stay.  No !  She  still  insisted  on  sending  him  out  of  her 
room.  He  seemed  to  feel  it — at  such  a  time,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  doctor.  Before  she  was  aware  of  him,  he  sud- 
denly stepped  up  to  the  bedside  and  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head. She  shrank  from  him  with  a  scream.  Mr.  Gale  inter- 
fered, and  led  him  out  of  the  room. 

"In  the  afternoon  Doctor  Jerome  arrived. 

"The  great  physician  came  just  in  time  to  see  her  seized 
with  another  attack  of  sickness.  He  watched  her  attentive- 
ly, without  speaking  a  word.  In  the  interval  when  the  sick- 
ness stopped,  he  still  studied  her,  as  it  were,  in  perfect  silence. 
I  thought  he  would  never  have  done  examining  her.  When 
he  was  at  last  satisfied,  he  told  me  to  leave  him  alone  with 
Mr.  Gale.  '  We  will  ring,'  he  said, '  when  we  want  you  here 
again.' 

"It  was  a  long  time  before  they  rang  for  me.  The  coach- 
man was  sent  for  before  I  was  summoned  back  to  the  bed- 
room. He  was  dispatched  to  Edinburgh  for  the  second  time, 
with  a  written  message  from  Dr.  Jerome  to  his  head  servant, 
saying  that  there  was  no  chance  of  his  returning  to  the  city 
and  to  his  patients  for  some  hours  to  come.  Some  of  us 
thought  this  looked  badly  for  Mrs.  Macallan.  Others  said 
it  might  mean  that  the  doctor  had  hopes  of  saving  her,  but 
expected  to  be  a  long  time  in  doing  it. 

"At  last  I  was  sent  for.  On  my  presenting  myself  in  the 
bedroom,  Doctor  Jerome  went  out  to  speak  to  Mr.  Macallan, 
leaving  Mr.  Gale  along  with  me.  From  that  time  as  long  as 
the  poor  lady  lived  I  was  never  left  alone  with  her.  One  of 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    I.ADV.  123 

the  two  doctors  was  always  in  her  room.  Refreshments 
were  prepared  for  them  ;  but  still  they  took  it  in  turns  to  cat 
their  meal,  one  relieving  the  other  at  the  bedside.  If  they 
had  administered  remedies  to  their  patient,  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised  by  this  proceeding.  But  they  were  at  the 
end  of  their  remedies ;  their  only  business  in  the  room  seemed 
to  be  to  keep  watch.  I  was  puzzled  to  account  for  this. 
Keeping  watch  was  the  nurse's  business.  I  thought  the  con- 
duct of  the  doctors  very  strange. 

"  By  the  time  that  the  lamp  was  lit  in  the  sick-room  I 
could  see  that  the  end  was  near.  Excepting  an  occasional 
feeling  of  cramp  in  her  legs,  she  seemed  to  suffer  less.  But 
her  eyes  looked  sunk  in  her  head ;  her  skin  was  cold  and 
clammy;  her  lips  had  turned  to  a  bluish  paleness.  Nothing 
roused  her  now — excepting  the  last  attempt  made  by  her 
husband  to  see  her.  He  came  in  with  Doctor  Jerome,  look- 
ing like  a  man  terror-struck.  She  was  past  speaking ;  but 
the  moment  she  saw  him  she  feebly  made  signs  and  sounds 
which  showed  that  she  was  just  as  resolved  as  ever  not  to  let 
him  come  near  her.  He  was  so  overwhelmed  that  Mr.  Gale 
was  obliged  to  help  him  out  of  the  room.  No  other  person 
was  allowed  to  see  the  patient.  Mr.  Dexter  and  Mrs.  Beauly 
made  their  inquiries  outside  the  door,  and  were  not  invited 
in.  As  the  evening  drew  on  the  doctors  sat  on  either  side  of 
the  bed,  silently  watching  her,  silently  waiting  for  her  death. 

"Toward  eight  o'clock  she  seemed  to  have  lost  the  use 
of  her  hands  and  arms  :  they  lay  helpless  outside  the  bed- 
riot  lies.  A  little  later  she  sank  into  a  sort  of  dull  sleep. 
Little  by  little  the  sound  of  her  heavy  breathing  grew  faint- 
er. At  twenty  minutes  past  nine  Doctor  Jerome  told  me  to 
bring  the  lamp  to  the  bedside.  He  looked  at  her,  and  put 
his  hand  on  her  heart.  Then  he  said  to  me, 'You  can  go 
down-stairs,  nurse:  it  is  all  over.'  He  turned  to  Mr.  Gale. 
'Will  you  inquire  if  Mr.  Macallan  can  see  us?'  he  said.  I 
opened  the  door  for  Mr.  Gale,  and  followed  him  out.  Doctor 
Jerome  called  me  back  for  a  moment,  and  told  me  to  give 
him  the  key  of  the  door.  I  did  so,  of  course ;  but  I  thought 
this  also  very  strange.  When  I  got  down  to  the  servants' 
hall  I  found  there  was  a  general  feeling  that  something  was 
wrong.  We  were  all  uneasy — without  knowing  why. 

'•  A  little  later  the  two  doctors  left  the  house.  Mr.  Maral- 
lan  had  been  quite  incapable  of  ivc-civing  them  and  hearing 


124  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

what  they  had  to  say.  In  this  difficulty  they  had  spoken 
privately  with  Mr.  Dexter,  as  Mr.  Macallan's  old  friend,  and 
the  only  gentleman  then  staying  at  Gleninch. 

"Before  bed-time  I  went  up-stairs  to  prepare  the  remains 
of  the  deceased  lady  for  the  coffin.  The  room  in  which  she 
lay  was  locked,  the  door  leading  into  Mr.  Macallan's  room 
being  secured,  as  well  as  the  door  leading  into  the  corridor. 
The  keys  had  been  taken  away  by  Mr.  Gale.  Two  of  the 
men-servants  were  posted  outside  the  bedroom  to  keep  watch. 
They  were  to  be  relieved  at  four  in  the  morning — that  was 
all  they  could  tell  me. 

"  In  the  absence  of  any  explanations  or  directions,  I  took 
the  liberty  of  knocking  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Dexter's  room. 
From  his  lips  I  first  heard  the  startling  news.  Both  the  doc- 
tors had  refused  to  give  the  usual  certificate  of  death  !  There 
was  to  be  a  medical  examination  of  the  body  the  next 
morning." 

There  the  examination  of  the  nurse,  Christina  Ormsay, 
came  to  an  end. 

Ignorant  as  I  was  of  the  law,  I  could  see  what  impression 
the  evidence  (so  far)  was  intended  to  produce  on  the  minds 
of  the  jury.  After  first  showing  that  my  husband  had  had 
two  opportunities  of  administering  the  poison — once  in  the 
medicine  and  once  in  the  tea — the  counsel  for  the  Crown  led 
the  jury  to  infer  that  the  prisoner  had  taken  those  opportuni- 
ties to  rid  himself  of  an  ugly  and  jealous  wife,  whose  detest- 
able temper  he  could  no  longer  endure. 

Having  directed  his  examination  to  the  attainment  of  this 
object,  the  Lord  Advocate  had  done  with  the  witness.  The 
Dean  of  Faculty — acting  in  the  prisoner's  interests — then 
rose  to  bring  out  the  favorable  side  of  the  wife's  character 
by  cross-examining  the  nurse.  If  he  succeeded  in  this  at- 
tempt, the  jury  might  reconsider  their  conclusion  that  the 
wife  was  a  person  who  had  exasperated  her  husband  beyond 
endurance.  In  that  case,  where  (so  far)  was  the  husband's 
motive  for  poisoning  her?  and  where  was  the  presumption 
of  the  prisoner's  guilt  ? 

Pressed  by  this  skillful  lawyer,  the  nurse  was  obliged  to 
exhibit  my  husband's  first  wife  under  an  entirely  new  aspect. 
Here  is  the  substance  of  what  the  Dean  of  Faculty  extracted 
from  Christina  Ormsay : 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  125 

*•• 

"I  persist  in  declaring  that  Mrs. Macallan  had  a  most  vio- 
lent temper.  But  she  was  certainly  in  the  habit  of  making 
amends  tor  the  offense  that  she  gave  by  her  violence.  When 
she  was  quiet  again,  she  always  made  her  excuses  to  me, 
and  she  made  them  with  a  good  grace.  Her  manners  were 
engaging  at  such  times  as  these.  She  spoke  and  acted  like 
a  well-bred  lady.  Then,  again,  as  to  her  personal  appear- 
ance. Plain  as  she  was  in  face,  she  had  a  good  figure ;  her 
hands  and  feet,  I  was  told,  had  been  modeled  by  a  sculptor. 
She  had  a  very  pleasant  voice,  and  she  was  reported  when 
in  health  to  sing  beautifully.  She  was  also  (if  her  maid's 
account  was  to  be  trusted)  a  pattern  in  the  matter  of  dress- 
ing for  the  other  ladies  in  the  neighborhood. '  Then,  as  to 
Mrs.  Beauly,  though  she  was  certainly  jealous  of  the  beauti- 
ful young  widow,  she  had  shown  at  the  same  time  that  she 
was  capable  of  controlling  that  feeling.  It  was  through  Mrs. 
Macallan  that  Mrs.  Beauly  was  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Beauly 
had  wished  to  postpone  her  visit  on  account  of  the  state  of 
Mrs.  Macallan's  health.  It  was  Mrs.  Macallan  herself — not 
her  husband — who  decided  that  Mrs.  Beauly  should  not  be 
disappointed,  and  should  pay  her  visit  to  Gleninch  then  and 
there.  Further,  Mrs.  Macallan  (in  spite  of  her  temper)  was 
popular  with  her  friends  and  popular  with  her  servants. 
There  was  hardly  a  dry  eye  in  the  house  when  it  was  known 
she  was  dying.  And,  further  still,  in  those  little  domestic 
disagreements  at  which  the  nurse  had  been  present,  Mr.  Mac- 
allan had  never  lost  his  temper,  and  had  never  used  harsh 
language :  he  seemed  to  be  more  sorry  than  angry  when  the 
quarrels  took  place." — Moral  for  the  jury  :  Was  this  the  sort 
of  woman  who  would  exasperate  a  man  into  poisoning  her;' 
And  was  this  the  sort  of  man  who  would  be  capable  of  poi- 
soning his  wife? 

Having  produced  this  salutary  counter -impression,  the 
Dean  of  Faculty  sat  down ;  and  the  medical  witnesses  were 
called  next. 

Here  the  evidence  was  simply  irresistible. 

Doctor  Jerome  and  Mr.  Gale  positively  swore  that  the 
symptoms  of  the  illness  were  the  symptoms  of  poisoning  by 
arsenic.  The  surgeon  who  had  performed  the  post-mortem 
examination  followed.  He  positively  swore  that  the  appear- 
ance of  the  internal  organs  proved  Doctor  Jerome  and  Mr. 
Gale  to  be  right  in  declaring  that  their  patient  had  died 


126  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

poisoned.  Lastly,  to  complete  this  overwhelming  testimony, 
two  analytical  chemists  actually  produced  in  Court  the  ar- 
senic which  they  had  found  in  the  body,  in  a  quantity  ad- 
mittedly sufficient  to  have  killed  two  persons  instead  of  one. 
In  the  face  of  such  evidence  as  this,  cross-examination  was  a 
mere  form.  The  first  Question  raised  by  the  Trial — Did  the 
Woman  Die  Poisoned? — was  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
and  answered  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt. 

The  next  witnesses  called  were  witnesses  concerned  with 
the  question  that  now  followed — the  obscure  and  terrible 
question, Who  Poisoned  Her? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SECOND    QUESTION — WHO   POISONED   HER? 

THE  evidence  of  the  doctors  and  the  chemists  closed  the 
proceedings  on  the  first  day  of  the  Trial. 

On  the  second  day  the  evidence  to  be  produced  by  the 
prosecution  was  anticipated  with  a  general  feeling  of  curios- 
ity and  interest.  The  Court  was  now  to  hear  what  had  been 
seen  and  done  by  the  persons  officially  appointed  to  verify 
such  cases  of  suspected  crime  as  the  case  which  had  occurred 
at  Gleninch.  The  Procurator-Fiscal — being  the  person  offi- 
cially appointed  to  direct  the  preliminary  investigations  of 
the  law — was  the  first  witness  called  on  the  second  day  of 
the  Trial. 

Examined  by  the  Lord  Advocate,  the  Fiscal  gave  his  evi- 
dence, as  follows : 

"  On  the  twenty-sixth  of  October  I  received  a  communica- 
tion from  Doctor  Jerome,  of  Edinburgh,  and  from  Mr.  Alex- 
ander Gale,  medical  practitioner,  residing  in  the  village  or 
hamlet  of  Dingdovie,  near  Edinburgh.  The  communication 
related  to  the  death,  under  circumstances  of  suspicion,  of 
Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan,  a^  her  husband's  house,  hard  by  Ding- 
dovie, called  Gleninch.  There  were  also  forwarded  to  me, 
inclosed  in  the  document  just  mentioned,  two  reports.  One 
described  the  results  of  a  post-mortem  examination  of  the 
deceased  lady,  and  the  other  stated  the  discoveries  made 
after  a  chemical  analysis  of  certain  of  the  interior  organs  of 
her  body.  The  result  in  both  instances  proved  to  demon- 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  1 '_' 7 

stration  that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  bad  died  of  poisoning  by 
arsenic. 

"  Under  these  circumstances,  I  set  in  motion  a  search  and 
inquiry  in  the  house  at  Qfoninch  and  elsewhere,  simply  for 
the  purpose  of  throwing  light  on  the  circumstances  which 
had  attended  the  lady's  death. 

"  No  criminal  charge  in  connection  with  the  death  wa^ 
made  at  my  office  against  any  person,  either  in  the  com- 
munication which  I  -received  from  the  medical  men  or  in 
any  other  form.  The  investigations  at  Gleninch  and  else- 
where, beginning  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  October,  w-ere  not 
completed  until  the  twenty-eighth.  Upon  this  latter  date — 
acting  on  certain  discoveries  which  were  reported  to  me, 
and  on  my  own  examination  of  letters  and  other  documents 
brought  to  my  office — I  made  a  criminal  charge  against  the 
prisoner,  and  obtained  a  warrant  for  his  apprehension.  He 
was  examined  before  the  Sheriff  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  Oc- 
tober, and  was  committed  for  trial  before  this  Court." 

The  Fiscal  having  made  his  statement,  and  having  been 
cross-examined  (on  technical  matters  only),  the  persons  em- 
ployed in  his  office  were  called  next.  These  men  had  a  story 
of  startling  interest  to  tell.  Theirs  were  the  fatal  discover- 
ies which  had  justified  the  Fiscal  in  charging  my  husband 
with  the  murder  of  his  wife.  The  first  of  the  witnesses  was 
a  sheriff's  officer.  He  gave  his  name  as  Isaiah  Schoolcraft. 

Examined  by  Mr.  Drew — Advocate-Depute,  and  counsel 
for  the  Crown,  with  the  Lord  Advocate — Isaiah  Schoolcraft 
said  : 

"I  got  a  warrant  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  October  to  go  to 
the  country-house  near  Edinburgh  called  Gleninch.  I  took 
with  me  Robert  Lorrie,  assistant  to  the  Fiscal.  We  first  ex- 
amined the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  had  died. 
On  the  bed,  and  on  a  movable  table  which  was  attached  to 
it,  we  found  books  and  writing  materials,  and  a  paper  con- 
taining some  unfinished  verses  in  manuscript,  afterward  iden- 
tified as  being  in  the  handwriting  of  the  deceased.  We  in- 
•  •losnl  these  articles  in  paper,  and  sealed  them  up. 

"  We  next  opened  an  Indian  cabinet  in  the  bedroom.  Here 
we  found  many  more  verses  on  many  more  sheets  of  paper  in 
the  same  handwriting.  We  also  discovered,  first  some  let- 
ters, and  next  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper  thrown  aside  in  a 
corner  of  one  of  the  shelves.  On  closer  examination,  a  chem- 


128  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

ist's  printed  label  was  discovered  on  this  morsel  of  paper. 
We  also  found  in  the  folds  of  it  a  few  scattered  grains  of 
some  white  powder.  The  paper  and  the  letters  were  care- 
fully inclosed,  and  sealed  up  as  before. 

"  Further  investigation  of  the  room  revealed  nothing  which 
could  throw  any  light  on  the  purpose  of  our  inquiry.  We 
examined  the  clothes,  jewelry,  and  books  of  the  deceased. 
These  we  left  under  lock  and  key.  We  also  found  her  dress- 
ing-case, which  we  protected  by  seals,  and  took  away  with 
us  to  the  Fiscal's  office,  along  with  all  the  other  articles  that 
we  had  discovered  in  the  room. 

"  The  next  day  we  continued  our  examination  in  the  house, 
having  received  iu  the  interval  fresh  instructions  from  the 
Fiscal.  We  began  our  work  in  the  bedroom  communicating 
with  the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Macallan  had  died.  It  had 
been  kept  locked  since  the  death.  Finding  nothing  of  any 
importance  here,  we  went  next  to  another  room  on  the  same 
floor,  in  which  we  were  informed  the  prisoner  was  then  lying 
ill  in  bed. 

"  His  illness  was  described  to  us  as  a  nervous  complaint, 
caused  by  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  by  the  proceedings  which 
had  followed  it.  He  was  reported  to  be  quite  incapable  of 
exerting  himself,  and  quite  unfit  to  see  strangers.  We  in- 
sisted nevertheless  (in  deference  to  our  instructions)  on  ob- 
taining admission  to  his  room.  He  made  no  reply  when  we 
inquired  whether  he  had  or  had  not  removed  any  thing  from 
the  sleeping-room  next  to  his  late  wife's,  which  he  usually 
occupied,  to  the  sleeping-room  in  which  he  now  lay.  All  he 
did  was  to  close  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  too  feeble  to  speak 
to  us  or  to  notice  us.  Without  further  disturbing  him,  we 
began  to  examine  the  room  and  the  different  objects  in  it. 

"  While  we  were  so  employed,  we  were  interrupted  by  a 
strange  sound.  We  likened  it  to  the  rumbling  of  wheels  in 
the  corridor  outside. 

"The  door  opened,  and  there  came  swiftly  in  a  gentleman 
— a  cripple — wheeling  himself  along  in  a  chair.  He  wheeled 
his  chair  straight  up  to  a  little  table  which  stood  by  the  pris- 
oner's bedside,  and  said  something  to  him  in  a  whisper  too 
low  to  be  overheard.  The  prisoner  opened  his  eyes,  and 
quickly  answered  by  a  sign.  We  informed  the  crippled  gen- 
tleman, quite  respectfully,  that  we  could  not  allow  him  to  be 
in  the  room  at  this  time.  He  appeared  to  think  nothing  of 


;I   TOOK   HIS   CHAIR   AND   PULLED   IT   AWAY." 


TIIK    LAW    AND    TMIC    l.ADV.  129 

what  we  said.  lie  only  answered,  'My  name  is  Dexter.  I 
am  one  of  Mr.  Macallan's  old  friends.  It  is  you  who  are  in- 
truding here — not  I.'  We  again  notified  to  him  that  he  must 
leave  the  room  ;  and  we  pointed  out  particularly  that  he  had 
got  his  chair  in  such  a  position  against  the  bedside  table  as 
to  prevent  us  from  examining  it.  He  only  laughed.  '  Can't 
you  see  for  yourselves,'  he  said,  'that  it  is  a  table,  and  noth- 
ing more?'  In  reply  to  this  we  warned  him  that  we  were 
acting  under  a  legal  warrant,  and  that  he  might  get  into 
trouble  if  he  obstructed  us  in  the  execution  of  our  duty. 
Finding  there  was  no  moving  him  by  fair  means,  I  took  his 
chair  and  pulled  it  away,  while  Robert  Lorrie  laid  hold  of 
the  table  and  carried  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  The 
crippled  gentleman  flew  into  a  furious  rage  with  me  for  pre- 
suming to  touch  his  chair.  '  My  chair  is  Me,'  he  said  :  '  how 
dare  you  lay  hands  on  Me?'  I  first  opened  the  door,  and 
then,  by  way  of  accommodating  him,  gave  the  chair  a  good 
push  behind  with  my  stick  instead  of  my  hand,  and  so  sent 
it  and  him  safely  and  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 

"Having  locked  the  door,  so  as  to  pi-event  any  further 
intrusion,  I  joined  Robert  Lorrie  in  examining  the  bedside 
table.  It  had  one  drawer  in  it,  and  that  drawer  we  found 
secured. 

*'  We  asked  the  prisoner  for  the  key. 

"He  flatly  refused  to  give  it  to  us,  and  said  we  had  no 
right  to  unlock  his  drawers.  He  was  so  angry  that  he  even 
declared  it  was  lacky  for  us  he  was  too  weak  to  rise  from  his 
bed.  I  answered  civilly  that  our  duty  obliged  us  to  examine 
the  drawer,  and  that  if  lie  still  declined  to  produce  the  key, 
he  would  only  oblige  us  to  take  the  table  away  and  have  the 
lock  opened  by  a  smith. 

"  While  we  were  still  disputing  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door  of  the  room. 

"I  opened  the  door  cautiously.  Instead  of  the  crippled 
gentleman,  whom  I  had  expected  to  see  again,  there  was  an- 
other stranger  standing  outside.  The  prisoner  bailed  him  as 
a  friend  and  neighbor,  and  eagerly  called  upon  him  for  pro- 
tection from  us.  We  found  this  second  gent  leman  pleasant 
enough  to  deal  with.  He  informed  us  readily  that  he  had 
been  sent  for  by  Mr.  Dexter,  and  that  he  was  himself  a  law- 
yer, and  he  asked  to  see  our  warrant.  Having  looked  at  it, 
he  at  once  informed  the  prisoner  (evidently  very  much  to  the 


130  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

prisoner's  surprise)  that  he  must  submit  to  have  the  drawer 
examined,  under  protest.  And  then,  without  more  ado,  he 
got  the  key,  and  opened  the  table  drawer  for  us  himself. 

"  We  found  inside  several  letters,  and  a  large  book  with  a 
lock  to  it,  having  the  words  'My  Diary'  inscribed  on  it  in 
gilt  letters.  As  a  matter  of  course,  we  took  possession  of 
the  letters  and  the  Diary,  and  sealed  them  up,  to  be  given 
to  the  Fiscal.  At  the  same  time  the  gentleman  wrote  out 
a  protest  on  the  prisoner's  behalf,  and  handed  us  his  card. 
The  card  informed  us  that  he  was  Mr.  Playmore,  now  one  of 
the  Agents  for  the  prisoner.  The  card  and  the  protest  were 
deposited,  with  the  other  documents,  in  the  care  of  the  Fis- 
cal. No  other  discoveries  of  any  importance  were  made  at 
Gleninch. 

"  Our  next  inquiries  took  us  to  Edinburgh — to  the  drug- 
gist whose  label  we  had  found  on  the  crumpled  morsel  of 
paper,  and  to  other  druggists  likewise  whom  we  were  in- 
structed to  question.  On  the  twenty-eighth  of  October  the 
Fiscal  was  in  possession  of  all  the  information  that  we  could 
collect,  and  our  duties  for  the  time  being  came  to  an  end." 

This  concluded  the  evidence  of  Schoolcraft  and  Lorrie.  It 
was  not  shaken  on  cross-examination,  and  it  was  plainly  un- 
favorable to  the  prisoner. 

Matters  grew  worse  still  when  the  next  witnesses  were 
called.  The  druggist  whose  label  had  been  found  on  the 
crumpled  bit  of  paper  now  appeared  on  the  stand,  to  make 
the  position  of  my  unhappy  husband  more  critical  than  ever. 

Andrew  Kinlay>  druggist,  of  Edinburgh,  deposed  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  I  keep  a  special  registry  book  of  the  poisons  sold  by  me. 
I  pi-oduce  the  book.  On  the  date  therein  mentioned  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar,  Mr.  Eustace  Macallan,  came  into  my 
shop,  and  said  that  he  wished  to  purchase  some  arsenic.  I 
asked  him  what  it  was  wanted  for.  He  told  me  it  was  want- 
ed by  his  gardener,  to  be  used,  in  solution,  for  the  killing  of 
insects  in  the  greenhouse.  At  the  same  time  he  mentioned 
his  name — Mr.  Macallan,  of  Gleninch.  I  at  once  directed  my 
assistant  to  put  up  the  arsenic  (two  ounces  of  it),  and  I  made 
the  necessary  entry  in  my  book.  Mr.  Macallan  signed  the 
entry,  and  I  signed  it  afterward  as  witness.  He  paid  for  the 
arsenic,  and  took  it  away  with  him  wrapped  up  in  two  pa- 
pers, the  outer  wrapper  being  labeled  with  my  name  and 


TUB    LAW    AND    TIIK    I. ADV.  131 

address,  and  with  the  word  'Poison'  in  large  letters — exact- 
ly like  the  label  now  produced  on  the  piece  of  paper  found 
at  Gleninch." 

The  next  witness,  Peter  Stockdale  (also  a  druggist  of 
Edinburgh),  followed,  and  said  : 

"  The  prisoner  at  the  bar  called  at  my  shop  on  the  date 
indicated  on  my  register,  some  days  later  than  the  date  in- 
dicated in  the  register  of  Mr.  Kinlay.  He  wished  to  pur- 
chase sixpenny-worth  of  arsenic.  My  assistant,  to  whom  he 
had  addressed  himself,  called  me.  It  is  a  rule  in  my  shop 
that  no  one  sells  poisons  but  myself.  I  asked  the  prisoner 
what  he  wanted  the  arsenic  for.  He  answered  that  he  want- 
ed it  for  killing  rats  at  his  house,  called  Gleninch.  I  said, 
*  Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Macallan,  of  Gleninch  ?' 
He  said  that  was  his  name.  I  sold  him  the  arsenic  —  about 
an  ounce  and  a  half — and  labeled  the  bottle  in  which  I  put 
it  with  the  word  'Poison'  in  my  own  handwriting.  He  sign- 
ed the  register,  and  took  the  arsenic  away  with  him,  after 
paying  for  it." 

The  cross-examination  of  the  two  men  succeeded  in  assert- 
ing certain  technical  objections  to  their  evidence.  But  the 
terrible  fact  that  my  husband  himself  had  actually  purchased 
the  arsenic  in  both  cases  remained  unshaken. 

The  next  witnesses  —  the  gardener  and  the  cook  at  Glen- 
inch—  wound  the  chain  of  hostile  evidence  around  the  pris- 
oner more  mercilessly  still. 

On  examination  the  gardener  said,  on  his  oath : 

"  I  never  received  any  arsenic  from  the  prisoner,  or  from 
any  one  else,  at  the  date  to  which  you  refer,  or  at  any  other 
date.  I  never  used  any  such  thing  as  a  solution  of  arsenic, 
or  ever  allowed  the  men  working  under  me  to  use  it,  in  the 
conservatories  or  in  the  garden  at  Gleninch.  I  disapprove 
of  arsenic  as  a  means  of  destroying  noxious  insects  infesting 
flowers  and  plants." 

The  cook,  being  called  next,  spoke  as  positively  as  the  gar- 
dener : 

"  Neither  my  master  nor  any  other  person  gave  me  any 
arsenic  to  destroy  rats  at  any  time.  No  such  thing  was  want- 
ed. I  declare,  on  my  oath,  that  I  never  saw  any  rats  in  or 
about  the  house,  or  ever  heard  of  any  rats  infesting  it." 

Other  household  servants  at  Gleninch  gave  similar  evi- 
dence. Nothing  could  l>c  extracted  from  them  on  or. 


132  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

animation  except  that  there  might  have  been  rats  in  the 
house,  though  they  were  not  a  Ware  of  it.  The  possession 
of  the  poison  was  traced  directly  to  my  husband,  and  to  no 
one  else.  That  he  had  bought  it  was  actually  proved,  and 
that  he  had  kept  it  was  the  one  conclusion  that  the  evidence 
justified. 

The  witnesses  who  came  next  did  their  best  to  press  the 
charge  against  the  prisoner  home  to  him.  Having  the  arsenic 
in  his  possession,  what  had  he  done  with  it?  The  evidence 
led  the  jury  to  infer  what  he  had  done  with  it. 

The  prisoner's  valet  deposed  that  his  master  had  rang  for 
him  at  twenty  minutes  to  ten  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  his  mistress  died,  and  had  ordered  a  cup  of  tea  for 
her.  The  man  had  received  the  order  at  the  open  door  of 
Mrs.  Macallan's  room,  and  could  positively  swear  that  no 
other  person  but  his  master  was  there  at  the  time. 

The  under-housemaid,  appearing  next,  said  that  she  had 
made  the  tea,  and  had  herself  taken  it  up-stairs  before  ten 
o'clock  to  Mrs.  Macallan's  room.  Her  master  had  received 
it  from  her  at  the  open  door.  She  could  look  in,  and  could 
see  that  he  was  alone  in  her  mistress's  room. 

The  nurse,  Christina  Ormsay, being  recalled,  repeated  what 
Mrs.  Macallan  had  said  to  her  on  the  day  when  that  lady 
was  first  taken  ill.  She  had  said  (speaking  to  the  nurse  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning),  "Mr.  Macallan  came  in  about  an 
hour  since ;  he  found  me  still  sleepless,  and  gave  me  my  com- 
posing draught."  This  was  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
while  Christina  Ormsay  was  asleep  on  the  sofa.  The  nurse 
further  swore  that  she  had  looked  at  the  bottle  containing 
the  composing  mixture,  and  had  seen  by  the  measuring 
marks  on  the  bottle  that  a  dose  had  been  poured  out  since 
the  dose  previously  given,  administered  by  herself. 

On  this  occasion  special  interest  was  excited  by  the  cross- 
examination.  The  closing  questions  put  to  the  under-house- 
inaid  and  the  nurse  revealed  for  the  first  time  what  the  nat- 
ure of  the  defense  was  to  be. 

Cross-examining  the  under-honsemaid,  the  Dean  of  Faculty 
said : 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  when  you  were  setting  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan's  room  to  rights  whether  the  water  left  in  the  basin 
was  of  a  blackish  or  bluish  color?"  The  witness  answered, 
"  I  never  noticed  any  thing  of  the  sort." 


THr,    LAW    AND    THK    LADY.  133 

The  Dean  of  Faculty  went  on : 

"Did  you  ever  tiiul  under  the  pillow  of  the  bed,  or  in  any 
other  hiding-place  in  Mrs.  Macallan's  room,  any  books  or 
pamphlets  telling  of  remedies  used  for  improving  a  bad  com- 
plexion ?"  The  witness  answered,  "  No." 

The  Dean  of  Faculty  persisted  : 

"Did  you  ever  hear  Mrs.  Macallan  speak  of  arsenic,  taken 
as  a  wash  or  taken  as  a  medicine,  as  a  good  thing  to  improve 
the  complexion  ?"  The  witness  answered,  "  Never." 

Similar  questions  were  next  put  to  the  nurse,  and  were  all 
answered  by  this  witness  also  in  the  negative. 

Here,  then,  in  spite  of  the  negative  answers,  was  the  plan 
of  the  defense  made  dimly  visible  for  the  first  time  to  the 
jury  and  to  the  audience.  By  way  of  preventing  the  possi- 
bility of  a  mistake  in  so  serious  a  matter,  the  Chief  Judge 
(the  Lord  Justice  Clerk)  put  this  plain  question,  when  the 
witnesses  had  retired,  to  the  Counsel  for  the  defense  : 

"The  Court  and  the  jury,"  said  his  lordship,  "wish  dis- 
tinctly to  understand  the  object  of  your  cross-examination 
of  the  housemaid  and  the  nurse.  Is  it  the  theory  of  the  de- 
fense that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  used  the  arsenic  which  her 
husband  purchased  for  the  purpose  of  improving  the  defects 
of  her  complexion  ?" 

The  Dean  of  Faculty  answered  : 

"That  is  what  we  say,  my  lord,  and  what  we  propose  to 
prove  as  the  foundation  of  the  defense.  We  can  not  dispute 
the  medical  evidence  which  declares  that  Mrs.  Macallan  died 
poisoned.  But  we  assert  that  she  died  of  an  overdose  of  ar- 
senic, ignbrantly  taken,  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  as  a 
remedy  for  the  defects — the  proved  and  admitted  defects  — 
of  her  complexion.  The  prisoner's  Declaration  before  the 
Sheriff  expressly  sets  forth  that  he  purchased  the  arsenic  at 
the  request  of  his  wife." 

The  Lord  Justice  Clerk  inquired  upon  this  if  there  were 
any  objection  on  the  part  of  either  of  the  learned  counsel  to 
have-  the  Declaration  read  in  Court  before  the  Trial  proceed- 
ed further. 

To  this  the  Dean  of  Faculty  replied  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  have  the  Declaration  read.  If  he  might  use  the  expres- 
sion, it  would  usefiillv  pave  the  way  in  the  minds  of  the  jury 
lor  the  defense  which  he  had  to  submit  to  them. 

The  Lord  Advocate  (speaking  on  the  other  side)  was  hap- 


134  TIIE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

py  to  be  able  to  accommodate  his  learned  brother  in  this  mat- 
ter. So  long  as  the  mere  assertions  which  the  Declaration 
contained  were  not  supported  by  proof,  he  looked  upon  that 
document  as  evidence  for  the  prosecution,  and  he  too  was 
quite  willing  to  have  it  read. 

Thereupon  the  prisoner's  Declaration  of  his  innocence — 
on  being  charged  before  the  Sheriif  with  the  murder  of  his 
wife — was  read,  in  the  following  terms: 

"  I  bought  the  two  packets  of  arsenic,  on  each  occasion  at 
my  wife's  own  request.  On  the  first  occasion  she  told  rne 
the  poison  was  wanted  by  the  gardener  for  use  in  the  conserv- 
atories. On  the  second  occasion  she  said  it  was  required 
by  the  cook  for  ridding  the  lower  part  of  the  house  of  rats. 

"I  handed  both  packets  of  arsenic  to  my  wife  immediately 
on  my  return  home.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  poison 
after  buying  it.  My  wife  was  the  person  who  gave  orders  to 
the  gardener  and  cook — not  I.  I  never  held  any  communica- 
tion with  either  of  them. 

"  I  asked  my  wife  no  questions  about  the  use  of  the  arsen- 
ic, feeling  no  interest  in  the  subject.  I  never  entered  the 
conservatories  for  months  together;  I  care  little  about  flow- 
ers. As  for  the  rats,  I  left  the  killing  of  them  to  the  cook  and 
the  other  servants,  just  as  I  should  have  left  any  other  part 
of  the  domestic  business  to  the  cook  and  the  other  servants. 

"  My  wife  never  told  me  she  wanted  the  arsenic  to  improve 
her  complexion.  Surely  I  should  be  the  last  person  admitted 
to  the  knowledge  of  such  a  secret  of  her  toilet  as  that  V  I 
implicitly  believed  what  she  told  me,  viz.,  that  the  poison  was 
wanted  for  the  purposes  specified  by  the  gardener  and  the  cook. 

"I  assert  positively  that  I  lived  on  friendly  terms  with 
my  wife,  allowing,  of  course,  for  the  little  occasional  disagree- 
ments and  misunderstandings  of  married  life.  Any  sense  of 
disappointment  in  connection  with  my  marriage  which  I  might 
have  felt  privately  I  conceived  it  to  be  my  duty  as  a  husband 
and  a  gentleman  to  conceal  from  my  wife.  I  was  not  only 
shocked  and  grieved  by  her  untimely  death — I  was  filled 
with  fear  that  I  had  not,  with  all  my  care,  behaved  affection- 
ately enough  to  her  in  her  lifetime. 

"Furthermore,  I  solemnly  declare  that  I  know  no  more  of 
how  she  took  the  arsenic  found  in  her  body  than  the  babe 
unborn.  I  am  innocent  even  of  the  thought  of  harming  that 
unhappy  woman.  I  administered  the  composing  draught  ex- 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  135 

actly  as  I  found  it  in  the  bottle.  I  afterward  gave  her  the 
cup  of  tea  exactly  as  I  received  it  from  the  under- house- 
maid's hand.  I  never  had  access  to  the  arsenic  after  I  placed 
the  two  packages  in  my  wife's  possession.  I  am  entirely  ig- 
norant of  what  she  did  with  them  or  of  where  she  kept  them. 
I  declare  before  God  I  am  innocent  of  the  horrible  crime  with 
which  I  am  charged." 

With  the  reading  of  those  true  and  touching  words  the  pro- 
ceedings on  the  second  day  of  the  Trial  came  to  an  end. 

So  far,  I  must  own,  the  effect  on  me  of  reading  the  Report 
was  to  depress  my  spirits  and  to  lower  my  hopes.  The 
whole  weight  of  the  evidence  at  the  close  of  the  second  day 
was  against  my  unhappy  husband.  Woman  as  I  was,  and 
partisan  as  I  was,  I  could  plainly  see  that. 

The  merciless  Lord  Advocate  (I  confess  I  hated  him  !)  had 
proved  (l)  that  Eustace  had  bought  the  poison;  (2)  that  the 
reason  which  he  had  given  to  the  druggists  for  buying  the 
poison  was  not  the  true  reason  ;  (3)  that  he  had  had  two  op- 
portunities of  secretly  administering  the  poison  to  his  wife. 
On  the  other  side,  what  had  the  Dean  of  Faculty  proved  ? 
As  yet — nothing.  The  assertions  in  the  prisoner's  Declara- 
tion of  his  innocence  were  still,  as  the  Lord  Advocate  had  re- 
marked, assertions  not  supported  by  proof.  Not  one  atom 
of  evidence  had  been  produced  to  show  that  it  was  the  wife 
who  had  secretly  used  the  arsenic,  and  used  it  for  her  com- 
plexion. 

My  one  consolation  was  that  the  reading  of  the  Trial  had 
already  revealed  to  me  the  helpful  figures  of  two  friends  on 
whose  sympathy  I  might  surely  rely.  The  crippled  Mr.  Dex- 
ter had  especially  shown  himself  to  be  a  thorough  good  ally 
of  my  husband's.  My  heart  warmed  to  the  man  who  had 
moved  his  chair  against  the  bedside  table  —  the  man  who 
had  struggled  to  the  last  to  defend  Eustace's  papers  from  the 
wretches  who  had  seized  them.  I  decided  then  and  there 
that  the  first  person  to  whom  I  would  confide  rny  aspirations 
and  my  hopes  should  be  Mr.  Dexter.  If  he  felt  any  difficulty 
about  advising  me,  I  would  then  apply  next  to  the  agent, 
Mr.  Playmore — the  second  good  friend,  who  had  formally  pro- 
tested against  the  seizure  of  my  husband's  papers. 

Fortified  by  this  resolution,  I  turned  the  page,  and  read 
the  history  of  the  third  day  of  the  Trial. 


136  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THIRD    QUESTION WHAT   WAS    HIS    MOTIVE? 

THE  first  question  (Did  the  Woman  Die  Poisoned  ?)  had 
been  answered,  positively.  The  second  question  (Who  Poi- 
soned Her  ?)  had  been  answered,  apparently.  There  now  re- 
mained the  third  and  final  question — What  was  His  Motive? 
The  first  evidence  called  in  answer  to  that  inquiry  was  the 
evidence  of  relatives  and  friends  of  the  dead  wife.  . 

Lady  Brydehaven,  widow  of  Rear- Admiral  Sir  George 
Brydehaven,  examined  by  Mr.  Drew  (counsel  for  the  Crown 
with  the  Lord  Advocate),  gave  evidence  as  follows: 

"  The  deceased  lady  (Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan)  was  my  niece. 
She  was  the  only  child  of  my  sister,  and  she  lived  under  my 
roof  after,  the  time  of  her  mother's  death.  I  objected  to  her 
marriage,  on  grounds  which  were  considered  purely  fanciful 
and  sentimental  by  her  other  friends.  It  is  extremely  pain- 
ful to  me  to  state  the  circumstances  in  public,  but  I  am  ready 
to  make  the  sacrifice  if  the  ends  of  justice  require  it. 

"  The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  now 
speaking,  was  staying  as  a  guest  in  my  house.  He  met  with 
an  accident  while  he  was  out  riding  which  caused  a  serious 
injury  to  one  of  his  legs.  The  leg  had  been  previously  hurt 
while  he  was  serving  with  the  army  in  India.  This  circum- 
stance tended  greatly  to  aggravate  the  injury  received  in  the 
accident.  He  was  confined  to  a  recumbent  position  on  a  sofa 
for  many  weeks  together;  and  the  ladies  in  the  house  took  it 
in  turns  to  sit  with  him,  and  while  away  the  weary  time  by 
reading  to  him  and  talking  to  him.  My  niece  was  foremost 
among  these  volunteer  nurses.  She  played  admirably  on  the 
piano;  and  the  sick  man  happened  —  most  unfortunately,  as 
the  event  proved — to  be  fond  of  music. 

"The  consequences  of  the  perfectly  innocent  intercourse 
thus  begun  were  deplorable  consequences  for  my  niece.  She 
became  passionately  attached  to  Mr.  Eustace  Macallan,  with- 
out awakening  any  corresponding  affection  on  his  side. 

"  I  did  my  best  to  interfere,  delicately  and  usefully,  while 
it  was  still  possible  to  interfere  with  advantage.  Unhappily, 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  137 

mv  niece  refused  to  place  any  confidence  in  me.  She  persist- 
ently denied  that  she  was  actuated  by  any  warmer  feeling 
toward  Mr.  Macallan  than  a  feeling  of  friendly  interest.  This 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  separate  them  without  openly 
acknowledging  my  reason  for  doing  so,  and  thus  producing  a 
scandal  which  might  have  affected  my  niece's  reputation.  My 
husband  was  alive  at  that  time ;  and  the  one  thing  I  could  do 
under  the  circumstances  was  the  thing  I  did.  I  requested  him 
to  speak  privately  to  Mr.  Macallan,  and  to  appeal  to  his  honor 
to  help  us  out  of  the  difficulty  without  prejudice  to  my  niece. 

"  Mr.  Macallan  behaved  admirably.  He  was  still  helpless. 
But  he  made  an  excuse  for  leaving  us  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  dispute.  In  two  days  after  my  husband  had  spoken 
to  him  he  was  removed  from  the  house. 

"  The  remedy  was  well  intended  ;  but  it  came  too  late,  and 
it  utterly  failed.  The  mischief  was  done.  My  niece  pined 
away  visibly;  neither  medical  help  nor  change  of  air  and 
scene  did  any  thing  for  her.  In  course  of  time — after  Mr. 
Macallan  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  his  accident — I 
found  that  she  was  carrying  on  a  clandestine  correspondence 
with  him  by  means  of  her  maid.  His  letters,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  were  most  considerately  and  carefully  written.  Never- 
theless, I  felt  it  my  duty  to  stop  the  correspondence. 

"My  interference — what  else  could  I  do  but  interfere? — 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  One  day  my  niece  was  missing 
at  breakfast-time.  The  next  day  we  discovered  that  the 
poor  infatuated  creature  had  gone  to  Mr.  Macallan's  cham- 
bers in  London,  and  had  been  found  hidden  in  his  bedroom 
by  some  bachelor  friends  who  came  to  visit  him. 

"  For  this  disaster  Mr.  Macallan  was  in  no  respect  to  blame. 
Hearing  footsteps  outside,  he  had  only  time  to  take  measures 
for  saving  her  character  by  concealing  her  in  the  nearest  room 
—  and  the  nearest  room  happened  to  be  his  bed-chamber. 
The  matter  was  talked  about,  of  course,  and  motives  were 
misinterpreted  in  the  vilest  manner.  My  husband  had  an- 
other private  conversation  with  Mr.  Macallan.  He  again  be- 
haved admirably.  He  publicly  declared  that  my  niece  had 
visited  him  as  his  betrothed  wife.  In  a  fortnight  from  that 
time  he  silenced  scandal  in  the  one  way  that  was  possible — 
he  married  her. 

"I  was  alone  in  opposing  the  marriage.  I  thought  it  at 
the  time  what  it  has  proved  to  be  since — a  fatal  mistake. 


138  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  It  would  have  been  sad  enough  if  Mr.  Macallan  had  only 
married  her  without  a  particle  of  love  on  his  side.  But  to 
make  the  prospect  more  hopeless  still,  he  was  at  that  very 
time  the  victim  of  a  misplaced  attachment  to  a  lady  who  was 
engaged  to  another  man.  I  am  well  aware  that  he  compas- 
sionately denied  this,  just  as  he  compassionately  affected  to 
be  in  love  with  my  niece  when  he  married  her.  But  his 
hopeless  admiration  of  the  lady  whom  I  have  mentioned  was 
a  matter  of  fact  notorious  among  his  friends.  It  may  not  be 
amiss  to  add  that  her  marriage  preceded  his  marriage.  He 
had  irretrievably  lost  the  woman  he  really  loved  —  he  was 
without  a  hope  or  an  aspiration  in  life — when  he  took  pity 
on  my  niece. 

"  In  conclusion,  I  can  only  repeat  that  no  evil  which  could 
have  happened  (if  she  had  remained  a  single  woman)  would 
have  been  comparable,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  evil  of  such  a 
marriage  as  this.  Never,  I  sincerely  believe,  were  two  more 
ill-assorted  persons  united  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony  than 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  and  his  deceased  wife." 

The  evidence  of  this  witness  produced  a  strong  sensation 
among  the  audience,  and  had  a  marked  effect  on  the  minds 
of  the  jury.  Cross-examination  forced  Lady  Brydehaven 
to  modify  some  of  her  opinions,  and  to  acknowledge  that 
the  hopeless  attachment  of  the  prisoner  to  another  woman 
was  a  matter  of  rumor  only.  But  the  facts  in  her  narrative 
remained  unshaken,  and,  for  that  one  reason,  they  invested 
the  crime  charged  against  the  prisoner  with  an  appearance 
of  possibility,  which  it  had  entirely  failed  to  assume  during 
the  earlier  part  of  the  Trial. 

Two  other  ladies  (intimate  friends  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Mac- 
allan) were  called  next.  They  differed  from  Lady  Bryde- 
haven in  their  opinions  on  the  propriety  of  the  marriage,  but 
on  all  the  material  points  they  -supported  her  testimony,  and 
confirmed  the  serious  impression  which  the  first  witness  had 
produced  on  every  person  in  Court. 

\JThe  next  evidence  which  the  prosecution  proposed  to  put 
in  was  the  silent  evidence  of  the  letters  and  the  Diary  found 
at  Glen  inch. 

In  answer  to  a  question  from  the  Bench,  the  Lord  Advo- 
cate stated  that  the  letters  were  written  by  friends  of  the 
prisoner  and  his  deceased  wife,  and  that  passages  in  them 
bore  directly  on  the  terms  on  which  the  two  associated  in 


THE    LAW    AXI)    THE    LADY.  139 

their  married  life.     The  Diary  was  still  more  valuable  as 
evidence.     It  contained  the  prisoner's  daily   record  of  do- 
mestic events,  and  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which  they 
aroused  in  him  at  the  timefl 
^    t  ^A.  most  painful  scene  followed  this  explanation. 

"Writing,  as  I  do,  long  after  the  events  took  place,  I  still 
can  not  prevail  upon  myself  to  describe  in  detail  what  my 
appy  husband  said  and  did  at  this  distressing  period  of 
the  Trial. ,  Deeply  affected  while  Lady  Brydehaven  was  giv- 
ing her  evidence,  he  had  with  difficulty  restrained  himself 
from  interrupting  her.  He  now  lost  all  control  over  his 
feelings.  In  piercing  tones,  which  rang  through  the  Court, 
he  protested  against  the  contemplated  violation  of  his  own 
most  sacred  secrets  and  his  wife's  most  sacred  secrets.  "Hang 
me,  innocent  as  I  am  !"  he  cried,  "  but  spare  me  thatF  The 
effect  of  this  terrible  outbreak  on  the  audience  is  reported 
to  have  been  indescribable.  Some  of  the  women  present 
were  in  hysterics.  The  Judges  interfered  from  the  Bench, 
but  with  no  good  result.  Quiet  was  at  length  restored  by 
the  Dean  of  Faculty,  who  succeeded  in  soothing  the  prison- 
er, and  who  then  addressed  the  Judges,  pleading  for  indul- 
gence to  his  unhappy  client  in  most  touching  and  eloquent 
language.  The  speech,  a  masterpiece  of  impromptu  orato- 
ry, concluded  with  a  temperate  yet  strongly  urged  protest 
against  the  reading  of  the  papers  discovered  at  Gleninch. J 

The  three  Judges  retired  to  consider  the  legal  question 
submitted  to  them.  The  sitting  was  suspended  for  more 
than  half  an  hour. 

/_As  usual  in  such  cases,  the  excitement  in  the  Court  com- 
municated itself  to  the  crowd  outside  in  the  streeO  The 
general  opinion  here — led,  as  it  was  supposed,  by  one  orthe 
clerks  or  other  inferior  persons  connected  with  the  legal  pro- 
ceedings— was  decidedly  adverse  to  the  prisoner's  chance  of 
escaping  a  sentence  of  death.  "If  the  letters  and  the  Diary 
arc  read,"  said  the  brutal  spokesman  of  the  mob,  "the  letters 
and  the  Diary  will  hang  him." 

On  the  return  of  the  Judges  into  Court,  it  was  announced 
that  they  had  decided,  by  a  majority  of  two  to  one,  on  per- 
mitting the  documents  in  dispute  to  be  produced  in  evidence. 
Each  of  the  Judges,  in  turn,  gave  his  reasons  for  the  decision 
at  which  he  had  arrived.  This  done,  the  Trial  proceeded. 
The  reading  of  the  extracts  from  the  letters  and  the  extracts 

C  •  +V\      TV     •      V* 


140  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

The  first  letters  produced  were  the  letters  found  in  the  In- 
dian cabinet  in  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  room.  They  were 
addressed  to  the  deceased  lady  by  intimate  (female)  friends 
of  hers,  with  whom  she  was  accustomed  to  correspond.  Three 
separate  extracts  from  letters  written  by  three  different  cor- 
respondents were  selected  to  be  read  in  Court. 

FIRST  CORRESPONDENT:  "I  despair,  my  dearest  Sara,  of 
being  able  to  tell  you  how  your  last  letter  has  distressed  me. 
Pray  forgive  me  if  I  own  to  thinking  that  your  very  sensitive 
nature  exaggerates  or  misinterprets,  quite  unconsciously,  of 
course,  the  neglect  that  you  experience  at  the  hands  of  your 
husband.  I  can  not  say  any  thing  about  his  peculiarities  of 
character,  because  I  am  not  well  enough  acquainted  with 
him  to  know  what  they  are.  But/my  dear,  I  am  much  old- 
er than  you,  and  I  have  had  a  much  longer  experience  than 
yours  of  what  somebody  calls  '  the  lights  and  shadows  of 
married  life.'  Speaking  from  that  experience,  I  must  tell 
you  what  I  have  observed.  Young  married  women,  like 
you,  who  are  devotedly  attached  to  their  husbands,  are  apt 
to  make  one  very  serious  mistake.  As  a  rule,  they  all  ex- 
pect too  much  from  their  husbands.  Men,  my  poor  Sara, 
are  not  like  us.  Their  love,  even  when  it  is  quite  sincere,  is 
not  like  our  love.  It  does  not  last  as  it  does  with  us.  It  is 
not  the  one  hope  and  one  thought  of  their  lives,  as  it  is  with 
us.  We  have  no  alternative,  even  when  we  most  truly  re- 
spect and  love  them,  but  to  make  allowance  for  this  differ- 
ence between  the  man's  nature  and  the  woman's.  I  do  not 
for  one  moment  excuse  your  husband's  coldness.  He  is 
wrong,  for  example,  in  never  looking  at  you  when  he  speaks 
to  you,  and  in  never  noticing  the  efforts  that  you  make  to 
please  him.  He  is  worse  than  wrong — he  is  really  cruel,  if 
you  like — in  never  returning  your  kiss  when  you  kiss  him. 
But,  my  dear,  are  you  quite  sure  that  he  is  always  designedly 
cold  and  cruel?  May  not  his  conduct  be  sometimes  the  re- 
sult of  troubles  and  anxieties  which  weigh  on  his  mind,  and 
which  are  troubles  and  anxieties  that  you  can  not  share  ? 
If  you  try  to  look  at  his  behavior  in  this  light,  you  will  un- 
derstand many  things  which  puzzle  and  pain  you  now.  Be 
patient  with  him,  my  child.  Make  no  complaints,  and  never 
approach  him  with  your  caresses  at  times  when  his  mind  is 
preoccupied  or  his  temper  ruffled.  This  may  be  hard  advice 
to  follow,  loving  him  as  ardently  as  you  do.  But,  rely  on 


THE  LAW  AND  TUB  LADY.  141 

it,  the  secret  of  happiness  for  us  women  is  to  be  found  (alas ! 
only  too  often)  in  such  exercise  of  restraint  and  resignation 
as  your  old  friend  now  recommends.  Think,  my  dear,  over 
what  I  have  written,  and  let  me  hear  from  you  again." 

SECOND  CORRESPONDENT  :  "  How  can  you  be  so  foolish, 
Sara,  as  to  waste  your  love  on  such  a  cold-blooded  brute  as 
your  husband  seems  to  be?  To  be  sure,  I  am  not  married 
yet,  or  perhaps  I  should  not  be  so  surprised  at  you.  But  I 
shall  be  married  one  of  these  days,  and  if  my  husband  ever 
treat  me  as  Mr.  Macallan  treats  you,  I  shall  insist  on  a  sep- 
aration. I  declare,  I  think  I  would  rather  be  actually  beat- 
en, like  the  women  among  the  lower  orders,  than  be  treated 
with  the  polite  neglect  and  contempt  which  you  describe. 
I  burn  with  indignation  when  I  think  of  it.  It  must  be 
quite  insufferable.  Don't  bear  it  any  longer,  my  poor  dear. 
Leave  him,  and  come  and  stay  with  me.  My  brother  is  a 
lawyer,  as  you  know.  I  read  to  him  portions  of  your  letter, 
and  he  is  of  opinion  that  you  might  get  what  he  calls  a  ju- 
dicial separation.  Come  and  consult  him." 
(^THIRD  CORRESPONDENT  :  "  You  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Mac- 
allan, what  my  experience  of  men  has  been.  Your  letter 
does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least.  Your  husband's  conduct 
to  you  points  to  one  conclusion.  He  is  in  love  with  some 
other  woman.  There  is  Somebody  in  the  dark,  who  gets 
from  him  every  thing  that  he  denies  to  you.  I  have  been 
through  it  all — and  I  know  !  Don't  give  way.  Make  it  the 
business  of  your  life  to  find  out  who  the  creature  is.  Per- 
haps there  may  be  more  than  one  of  them.  It  doesn't  mat- 
ter. One  or  many,  if  you  can  only  discover  them,  you  may 
make  his  existence  as  miserable  to  him  as  he  makes  your  ex- 
istence to  you.  If  you  want  my  experience  to  help  you,  say 
the  word,  and  it  is  freely  at  your  service.  I  can  corae  and 
stay  with_you  at  Gleninch  any  time  after  the  fourth  of  next 
month." 

With  those  abominable  lines  the  readings  from  the  letters 
of  the  women  came  to  an  end.  The  first  and  longest  of  the 
Extracts  produced  the  most  vivid  impression  in  Court.  Evi- 
dently the  writer  was  in  this  case  a  worthy  and  sensible  per- 
son. It  was  generally  felt,  however,  that  all  three  of  the 
letters,  no  matter  how  widely  they  might  differ  in  tone,  jus- 
tified the  same  conclusion.  The  wife's  position  at  Glen  inch 


142  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

(if  the  wife's  account  of  it  were  to  be  trusted)  was  the  posi- 
tion of  a  neglected  and  an  unhappy  woman. 

The  correspondence  of  the  prisoner,  which  had  been  found, 
with  his  Diary,  in  the  locked  bed-table  drawer,  was  produced 
next.  The  letters  in  this  case  were  with  one  exception  all 
written  by  men.  Though  the  tone  of  them  was  moderation 
itself  as  compared  with  the  second  and  third  of  the  women's 
letters,  the  conclusion  still  pointed  the  same  way.  The  life 
of  the  husband  at  Gleninch  appeared  to  be  just  as  intoler- 
able as  the  life  of  the  wife. 

For  example,  one  of  the  prisoner's  male  friends  wrote  in- 
viting him  to  make  a  yacht  voyage  around  the  world.  An- 
other suggested  an  absence  of  six  months  on  the  Continent. 
A  third  recommended  field-sports  and  fishing.  The  one  ob- 
ject aimed  at  by  all  the  writers  was  plainly  to  counsel  a 
separation,  more  or  less  plausible  and  more  or  less  complete, 
between  the  married  pair. 

The  last  letter  read  was  addressed  to  the  prisoner  in  a 
woman's  handwriting,  and  was  signed  by  a  woman's  Chris- 
tian name  only. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  Eustace,  what  a  cruel  destiny  is  ours  !"  the 
letter  began.  "  When  I  think  of  your  life,  sacrificed  to  that 
wretched  woman,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you.  If  we  had  been 
man  and  wife — if  it  had  been  my  unutterable  happiness  to 
love  and  cherish  the  best,  the  dearest  of  men — what  a  para- 
dise of  our  own  we  might  have  lived  in  !  what  delicious  hours 
we  might  have  known  !  But  regret  is  vain  ;  we  are  sepa- 
rated in  this  life — separated  by  ties  which  we  both  mourn, 
and  yet  which  we  must  both  respect.  My  Eustace,  there  is 
a  world  beyond  this.  There  our  souls  will  fly  to  meet  each 
other,  and  mingle  in  one  long  heavenly  embrace — in  a  rapture 
forbidden  to  us  on  earth.  The  misery  described  in  your  let- 
ter— oh,  why,  why  did  you  marry  her? — -has  wrung  this  con- 
fession of  feeling  from  me.  Let  it  comfort  you,  but  let  no 
other  eyes  see  it.  Burn  my  rashly  written  lines,  and  look 
(as  I  look)  to  the  better  life  which  you  may  yet  share  with 
your  own  HELENA." 

The  reading  of  this  outrageous  letter  provoked  a  question 
from  the  Bench.  One  of  the  Judges  asked  if  the  writer  had 
attached  any  date  or  address  to  her  letter. 

In  answer  to  this  the  Lord  Advocate  stated  that  neither 


THE    LAW    AND    THK    LADY.  14J3 

the  one  nor  the  other  appeared.  The  envelope  showed  that 
the  letter  had  been  posted  in  London.  "We  propose,"  the 
learned  counsel  continued,  "  to  read  certain  passages  from 
the  prisoner's  Diary,  in  which  the  name  signed  at  the  end  of 
the  letter  occurs  more  than  once;  and  we  may  possibly  find 
other  means  of  identifying  the  writer,  to  the  satisfaction  of 
your  lordships,  before  the  Trial  is  over." 

The  promised  passages  from  my  husband's  private  Diary 
were  now  read.  The  first  extract  related  to  a  period  of  near- 
ly a  year  before  the  death  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death. 
It  was  expressed  in  these  terms : 

"  News,  by  this  morning's  post,  which  has  quite  over- 
whelmed me.  Helena's  husband  died  suddenly  two  days 
since  of  heart-disease.  She  is  free — my  beloved  Helena  is 
free  !  And  I  ? 

"  I  am  fettered  to  a  woman  with  whom  I  have  not  a  single 
feeling  in  common.  Helena  is  lost  to  me,  by  my  own  act. 
Ah !  I  can  understand  now,  as  I  never  understood  before, 
how  irresistible  temptation  can  be,  and  how  easily  sometimes 
crime  may  follow  it.  I  had  better  shut  up  these  leaves  for 
the  night.  It  maddens  me  to  no  purpose  to  think  of  my 
position  or  to  write  of  it." 

The  next  passage,  dated  a  few  days  later,  dwelt  on  the 
same  subject. 

"  Of  all  the  follies  that  a  man  can  commit,  the  greatest  is 
acting  on  impulse.  I  acted  on  impulse  when  I  married  the 
unfortunate  creature  who  is  now  my  wife. 

"Helena  was  then  lost  to  me,  as  I  too  hastily  supposed. 
She  had  married  the  man  to  whom  she  rashly  engaged  her 
self  before  she  met  with  me.  He  was  younger  than  I,  and, 
to  all  appearance,  heartier  and  stronger  than  I.  So  far  as  I 
could  see,  my  fate  was  sealed  for  life.  Helena  had  written 
her  farewell  letter,  taking  leave  of  me  in  this  world  for  good. 
My  prospects  were  closed  ;  my  hopes  had  ended.  I  had  not 
an  aspiration  left;  I  had  no  necessity  to  stimulate  me  to  take 
refuge  in  work.  A  chivalrous  action,^in  exertion  of  noble 
self-denial,  seemed  to  be  all  that  was  left  to  me,  all  that  I 
was  tit  for. 

"The  circumstances  of  the  moment  adapted  themselves, 

with  a  fatal  facility,  to  this  idea.     The  ill-fated  woman  who 

had  become  attached  to  me  (Heaven  knows  without  so  much 

as  the  shadow  of  encouragement  on  my  part!)  had,  just  at 

G 


144     \(p?>  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

that  time,  rashly  placed  her  reputation  at  the  mercy  of  the 
world.  It  rested  with  me  to  silence  the  scandalous  tongues 
that  reviled  her.  With  Helena  lost  to  me,  happiness  was 
not  to  be  expected.  All  women  were  equally  indifferent  to 
me.  A  generous  action  would  be  the  salvation  of  this  wom- 
an. Why  not  perform  it  ?  I  married  her  on  that  impulse 
— married  her  just  as  I  might  have  jumped  into  the  water 
and  saved »her  if  she  had  been  drowning;  just  as  I  might 
have  knocked  a  man  down  if  I  had  seen  him  ill-treating  her 
in  the  street ! 

"And  now  the  woman  for  whom. I  have  made  this  sacri- 
fice stands  between  me  and  my  Helena — my  Helena,  free  to 
pour  out  all  the  treasures  of  her  love  on  the  man  who  adores 
the  earth  that  she  touches  with  her  foot ! 

"  Fool !  madman !  Why  don't  I  dash  out  my  brains 
against  the  wall  that  I  see  opposite  to  me  while  I  write 
these  lines? 

"  My  gun  is  there  in  the  corner.  I  have  only  to  tie  a  string 
to  the  trigger  and  to  put  the  muzzle  to  my  mouth —  No ! 
My  mother  is  alive ;  my  mother's  love  is  sacred.  I  have  no 
right  to  take  the  life  which  she  gave  me.  I  must  suffer  and 
submit.  Oh,  Helena  !  Helena !" 

The  third  extract  —  one  among  many  similar  passages — 
had  been  written  about  two  months  before  the  death  of  the 
prisoner's  wife.  "More  reproaches  addressed  to  me  !  There 
never  was  such  a  woman  for  complaining ;  she  lives  in  a  per- 
fect atmosphere  of  ill-temper  and  discontent. 

"My  new  offenses  are  two  in  number:  I. never  ask  her  to 
play  to  me  now ;  and  when  she  puts  on  a  new  dress  express- 
ly to  please  me,  I  never  notice  it.  Notice  it !  Good  Heav- 
ens !  The  effort  of  my  life  is  not  to  notice  her  in  any  thing 
she  does  or  says.  How  could  I  keep  my  temper,  unless  I 
kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the  way  of  private  interviews 
with  her?  And  I  do  keep  my  temper.  I  am  never  hard  on 
her;  I  never  use  harsh  language  to  her.  She  has  a  double 
claim  on  my  forbearance — she  is  a  woman,  and  the  law  has 
made  her  my  wife.  I  remember  this  ;  but  I  am  human. 
The  less  I  see  of  her — except  when  visitors  are  present — the 
more  certain  I  can  feel  of  preserving  my  self-control. 
£, "  I  wonder  what  it  is  that  makes  her  so  utterly  distasteful 
to  me  ?  She  is  a  plain  woman ;  but  I  have  seen  uglier  women 
than  she  whose  caresses  I  could  have  endured  without  the 


THE    LAW    AND   TIIE    LADY.  145 

sense  of  shrinking  that  comes  over  me  when  I  am  obliged  to 
submit  to  her  caresses.  I  keep  the  feeling  hidden  from  her. 
She  loves  me,  poor  thing — and  I  pity  her.  I  wish  I  could  do 
more ;  I  wish  I  could  return  in  the  smallest  degree  the  feel- 
ing with  which  she  regards  me.  But  no — I  can  only  pity 
her.  If  she  would  be  content  to  live  on  friendly  terms  with 
me,  and  never  to  exact  demonstrations  of  tenderness,  we 
might  get  on  pretty  well.  But  she  wants  love.  Unfortu- 
nate creature,  she  wants  love  ! 

"  Oh,  my  Helena !  I  have  no  love  to  give  her.  My  heart 
is  yours. 

"  I  dreamed  last  night  that  this  unhappy  wife  of  mine  was 
dead.  The  dream  was  so  vivid  that  I  actually  got  out  of  my 
bed  and  opened  the  door  of  her  room  and  listened. 

"Her  calm,  regular  breathing  was  distinctly  audible  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  She  was  in  a  deep  sleep.  I  closed  the 
door  again,  and  lit  my  candle  and  read.  Helena  was  in  all 
my  thoughts ;  it  was  hard  work  to  fix  my  attention  on  the 
book.  But  any  thing  was  better  than  going  to  bed  again, 
and  dreaming  perhaps  for  the  second  time  that  I  too  was  free. 

"  What  a  life  mine  is !  what  a  life  my  wife's  is !  If  the 
house  were  to  take,  fire,  I  wonder  whether  I  should  make  an 
effort  to  save  myself  or  to  save  her  ?" 

The  last  two  passages  read  referred  to  later  dates  still. 

"  A  gleam  of  brightness  has  shone  over  this  dismal  exist- 
ence of  mine  at  last. 

"  Helena  is  no  longer  condemned  to  the  seclusion  of  wid- 
owhood. Time  enough  has  passed  to  permit  of  her  mixing 
again  in  society.  She  is  paying  visits  to  friends  in  our  part 
of  Scotland ;  and,  as  she  apd  I  are  cousins,  it  is  universally 
understood  that  she  can  not  leave  the  North  without  also 
spending  a  few  days  at  my  house.  She  writes  me  word  that 
the  visit,  however  embarrassing  it  may  be  to  us  privately,  is 
nevertheless  a  visit  that  must  be  made  for  the  sake  of  appear- 
ances. Blessings  on  appearances !  I  shall  see  this  angel  in 
my  purgatory — and  all  because  Society  in  Mid-Lothian  would 
think  it  strange  that  my  cousin  should  be  visiting  in  my  part 
of  Scotland  and  not  visit  Me  ! 

"But  we  are  to  be  very  careful.  Helena  says,  in  so  many 
words, '  I  come  to  see  you,  Eustace,  as  a  sister.  You  must 
receive  me  as  a  brother,  or  not  receive  me  at  all.  I  shall 
write  to  your  wife  to  propose  the  day  for, my  visit.  I  shall 


146  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

not  forget — do  you  not  forget — that  it  is  by  your  wife's  per- 
mission that  I  enter  your  house.' 

"  Only  let  me  see  her !  I  will  submit  to  any  thing  to  ob- 
tain the  unutterable^  happiness  of  seeing  her!" 

The  last  extract  followed,  and  consisted  of  these  lines  only: 

"  A  new  misfortune !  My  wife  has  fallen  ill.  She  has 
taken  to  her  bed  with  a  bad  rheumatic  cold,  just  at  the  time 
appointed  for  Helena's  visit  to  Gleninch.  But  on  this  occa- 
sion (I  gladly  own  it !)  she  has  behaved  charming^.  She 
has  written  to  Helena  to  say  that  her  illness  is  not  serious 
enough  to  render  a  change  necessary  in  the  arrangements, 
and  to  make  it  her  particular  request  that  my  cousin's  visit 
shall  take  place  upon  the  day  originally  decided  on. 

"This  is  a  great  sacrifice  made  to  me  on  my  wife's  part. 
Jealous  of  every  woman  under  forty  who  comes  near  me,  she 
is,  of  course,  jealous  of  Helena — and  she  controls  herself,  and 
trusts  me ! 

"  I  am  bound  to  show  my  gratitude  for  this,  and  I  will 
show  it.  From  this  day  forth  I  vow  to  live  more  affection- 
ately with  my  wife.  I  tenderly  embraced  her  this  very 
morning,  and  I  hope,  poor  soirt,  she  did  not  discover  the  ef- 
fort that  it  cost  me." 

There  the  readings  from  the  Diary  came  to  an  end. 

The  most  unpleasant  pages  in  the  whole  Report  of  the 
Trial  were — to  me — the  pages  which  contained  the  extracts 
from  my  husband's  Diary.  There  were  expressions  here  and 
there  which  not  only  pained  me,  but  which  almost  shook 
Eustace's  position  in  my  estimation.  I  think  I  would  have 
given  every  thing  I  possessed  to  have  had  the  power  of  an- 
nihilating certain  lines  in  the  Diary.  As  for  his  passionate 
expressions  of  love  for  Mrs.  Beauly,  every  one  of  them  went 
through  me  like  a  sting.  He  had  whispered  words  quite  as 
warm  into  my  ears  in  the  days  of  his  courtship.  I  had  no 
reason  to  doubt  that  he  truly  and  dearly  loved  me.  But  the 
question  was,  Had  he  just  as  truly  and  dearly  loved  Mrs. 
Beauly  before  me  ?  Had  she  or  I  won  the  first  love  of  his 
heart  ?  He  had  declared  to  me  over  and  over  again  that  he 
had  only  fancied  himself  to  be  in  love  before  the  day  when 
we  met.  I  had  believed  him  then.  I  determined  to  believe 
him  still.  I  did  believe  him.  But  I  hated  Mrs.  Beauly  ! 

As  for  the  painful  impression  produced  in  Court  by  the 


THE    LAAV    AND    THE    LADY.  147 

readings  from  the  letters  and  the  Diary,  it  seemed  to  be  im- 
possible to  increase  it.  Nevertheless  it  was  perceptibly  in- 
creased. In  other  words,  it  Was  rendered  more  unfavorable 
still  toward  the  prisoner  by  the  evidence  of  the  next  and  lust 
witness  called  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution. 

William  Enzie,uuder-gardeuer  at  Gleninch,  was  sworn,  and 
deposed  as  follows : 

On  the  twentieth  of  October,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  fore- 
noon, I  was  sent  to  work  in  the  shrubbery,  on  the  side  next 
to  the  garden  called  the  Dutch  Garden.  There  was  a  sum- 
mer-house in  the  Dutch  Garden,  having  its  back  set  toward 
the  shrubbery.  The  day  was  wonderfully  fine  and  warm  for 
the  time  of  year. 

"Passing  to  my  work,  I  passed  the  back  of  the  summer- 
house.  I  heard  voices  inside- — a  man's  voice  and  a  lady's 
voice.  The  lady's  voice  was  strange  to  me.  The  man's 
voice  I  recognized  as  the  voice  of  my  master.  The  ground 
in  the  shrubbery  was  soft,  and  my  curiosity  was  excited.  I 
stepped  up  to  the  back  of  the  summer-house  without  being 
heard,  and  I  listened  to  what  was  going  on  inside. 

"The  first  words  I  could  distinguish  were  spoken  in  my 
master's  voice.  He  said, '  If  I  could  only  have  foreseen  that 
you  might  one  day  be  free,  what  a  happy  man  I  might  have 
been !'  The  lady's  voice  answered,  '  Hush  !  you  must  not 
talk  so.'  Mj>  master  said  upon  that,  'I  must  talk  of  what  is 
in  my  mind;  it  is  always  in  my  mind  that  I  have  lost  you.' 
He  stopped  a  bit  there,  and.  then  he  said  on  a  sudden,  'Do 
me  one  favor,  my  angel!  Promise  me  not  to  marry  again.' 
The  lady's  voice  spoke  out  thereupon  sharply  enough,  'What 
do  you  mean  ?'  My  master  said, '  I  wish  no  harm  to  the  un- 
happy creature  who  is  a  burden  on  my  life;  but  suppose — ' 
'  Suppose  nothing,'  the  lady  said  ;  'come  back  to  the  house.' 

"  She  led  the  way  into  the  garden,  and  turned  round, 
beckoning  my  master  to  join  her.  In  that  position  I  saw 
h<-r  lace  plainly,  and  I  knew  it  for  the  face  of  the  young 
widow  lady  who  was  visiting  at  the  house.  "She  was  point- 
ed out  to  me  by  the  head -gardener  when  she  first  arrived, 
for  the  purpose  of  warning  me  that  I  was  not  to  interfere 
if  I  found  her  picking  the  flowers.  The  gardens  at  Glen- 
inch  were  shown  to  tourists  on  certain  days,  and  we  made 
a  difference,  of  course,  in  the  matter  of  the  ll<>we.-s  between 
strangers  and  guests  staying  in  the  house.  I  am  quite  eer- 


148  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

tain  of  the  identity  of  the  lady  who  was  talking  with  my 
master.  Mrs.  Beauly  was  a  comely  person — and  there  was 
no  mistaking  her  for  any  other  than  herself.  She  and  my 
master  withdrew  together  on  the  way  to  the  house.  I  heard 
nothing  more  of  what  passed  between  them." 

This  witness  was  severely  cross-examined  as  to  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  recollection  of  the  talk  in  the  summer-house, 
and  as  to  his  capacity  for  identifying  both  the  speakers.  On 
certain  minor  points  he  was  shaken.  But  he  firmly  asserted 
his  accui-ate  remembrance  of  the  last  words  exchanged  be- 
tween his  master  and  Mrs.  Beauly ;  and  he  personally  de- 
scribed the  lady  in  terms  which  proved  that  he  had  correct- 
ly identified  her. 

With  this  the  answer  to  the  third  question  raised  by  the 
Trial  —  the  question  of  the  prisoner's  motive  for  poisoning 
his  wife — came  to  an  end. 

The  story  for  the  prosecution  was  now  a  story  told.  The 
stanchest  friends  of  the  prisoner  in  Court  were  compelled  to 
acknowledge  that  the  evidence  thus  far  pointed  clearly  and 
conclusively  against  him.  He  seemed  to  feel  this  himself. 
When  he  withdrew  at  the  close  of  the  third  day  of  the  Trial 
he  was  so  depressed  and  exhausted  that  he  was  obliged  to 
lean  on  the  arm  of  the  governor  of  the  jail. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  EVIDENCE  FOR  THE  DEFENSE. 

THE  feeling  of  interest  excited  by  the  Trial  was  prodig- 
iously increased  on  the  fourth  day.  The  witnesses  for  the 
defense  were  now  to  be  heard,  and  first  and  foremost  among 
them  appeared  the  prisoner's  mother.  She  looked  at  her 
son  as  she  lifted  her  veil  to  take  the  oath.  He  burst  into 
tears.  At  that  moment  the  sympathy  felt  for  the  mother 
was  generally  extended  to  the  unhappy  son. 

Examined  by  the  Dean  of  Faculty,  Mrs.  Macallan  the  eld- 
er gave  her  answers  with  remarkable  dignity  and  self-con- 
trol. 

Questioned  as  to  certain  private  conversations  which  had 
passed  between  her  late  daughter-in-law  and  herself,  she  de- 
clared that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  was  morbidly  sensitive 


SHE    LOOKED    AT    HER    SON    AS    SHE    LIFTED    IIEll   VEIL    TO    TAKE    THE    OATH. 


THE    LAW    AND    TI1E    LADY.  140 

on  the  subject  of  her  personal  appearance.  She  was  devot- 
edly attached  to  her  husband;  the  great  anxiety  of  her  life 
was  to  make  herself  as  attractive  to  him  as  possible.  The 
imperfections  in  her  personal  appearance — and  especially  in 
her  complexion — were  subjects  to  her  of  the  bitterest  regret. 
The  witness  had  heard  her  say,  over  and  over  again  (refer- 
ring to  her  complexion),  that  there  was  no  risk  she  would  not 
run,  and  no  pain  she  would  not  suffer,  to  improve  it.  "Men" 
(she  had  said)  "  are  all  caught  by  outward  appearances  :  my 
husband  might  love  me  better  if  I  had  a  better  color." 

Being  asked  next  if  the  passages  from  her  son's  Diary 
were  to  be  depended  on  as  evidence  —  that  is  to  say,  if  they 
fairly  represented  the  peculiarities  in  his  character,  and  his 
true  sentiments  toward  his  wife — 31rs.  3Iacallau  denied  it  in 
the  plainest  and  strongest  terms. 

"The  extracts  from  my  son's  Diary  are  a  libel  on  his 
character,"  she  said.  "  And  not  the  less  a  libel  because  they 
happen  to  be  written  by  himself.  Speaking  from  a  mother's 
experience  of  him,  I  know  that  he  must  have  written  the 
passages  produced  in  moments  of  uncontrollable  depression 
and  despair.  No  just  person  judges  hastily  of  a  man  by  the 
rash  words  which  may  escape  him  in  his  moody  and  miser- 
able moments.  Is  my  son  to  be  so  judged  because  he  hap- 
pens to  have  written  his  rash  words,  instead  of  speaking 
them?  His  pen  has  been  his  most  deadly  enemy,  in  this 
case — it  has  presented  him  at  his  very  worst.  He  was  not 
happy  in  his  marriage — I  admit  that.  But  I  say  at  the  same 
time  that  he  was  invariably  considerate  toward  his  wife.  I 
was  implicitly  trusted  by  both  of  them;  I  saw  them  in  their 
most  private  moments.  I  declare  —  in  the  face  of  what  she 
appears  to  have  written  to  her  friends  and  correspondents 
— that  my  son  never  gave  his  wife  any  just  cause  to  assert 
that  he  treated  her  with  cruelty  or  neglect." 

The  words,  firmly  and  clearly  spoken,  produced  a  strong 
impression.  The  Lord  Advocate — evidently  perceiving  that 
any  attempt  to  weaken  that  impression  would  not  be  likely 
to  succeed  —  confined  himself,  in  cross-examination,  to  two 
significant  questions. 

"In  speaking  to  you  of  the  defects  in  her  complexion,"  he 
said, "  did  your  daughter-in-law  refer  in  any  way  to  the  use 
of  arsenic  as  a  remedy  ?" 

The  answer  to  this  was,  "  No." 
02 


150  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

The  Lord  Advocate  proceeded  : 

"  Did  you  yourself  ever  recommend  arsenic,  or  mention  it 
casually,  in  the  course  of  the  private  conversations  which 
you  have  described  ?" 

The  answer  to  this  was,  "Never." 

The  Lord  Advocate  resumed  his  seat.  Mrs.  Macallan  the 
elder  withdrew. 

An  interest  of  a  new  kind  was  excited  by  the  appearance 
of  the  next  witness.  This  was  no  less  a  person  than  Mrs. 
Beauly  herself.  The  Report  describes  her  as  a  remarkably 
attractive  person ;  modest  and  lady-like  in  her  manner,  and, 
to  all  appearance,  feeling  sensitively  the  public  position  in 
which  she  was  placed. 

The  first  portion  of  her  evidence  was  almost  a  recapitula- 
tion of  the  evidence  given  by  the  prisoner's  mother  —  with 
this  difference,  that  Mrs.  Beauly  had  been  actually  ques- 
tioned by  the  deceased  lady  on  the  subject  of  cosmetic  ap- 
plications to  the  complexion.  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  had 
complimented  her  on  the  beauty  of  her  complexion,  and  had 
asked  what  artificial  means  she  used  to  keep  it  in  such  good 
order.  Using  no  artificial  means,  and  knowing  nothing  what- 
ever of  cosmetics,  Mrs.  Beauly  had  resented  the  question,  and 
a  temporary  coolness  between  the  two  ladies  had  been  the 
result. 

Interrogated  as  to  her  relations  with  the  prisoner,  Mrs. 
Beauly  indignantly  denied  that  she  or  Mr.  Macallan  had 
ever  given  the  deceased  lady  the  slightest  cause  for  jealousy. 
It  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Beauly  to  leave  Scotland,  after 
visiting  at  the  houses  of  her  cousin's  neighbors,  without  also 
visiting  at  her  cousin's  house.  To  take  any  other  course 
would  have  been  an  act  of  downright  rudeness,  and  would 
have  excited  remark.  She  did  not  deny  that  Mr.  Macallan 
had  admired  her  in  the  days  when  they  were  both  single 
people.  But  there  was  no  further  expression  of  that  feeling 
when  she  had  married  another  man,  and  when  he  had  mar- 
ried another  woman.  From  that  time  their  intercourse  was 
the  innocent  intercourse  of  a  brother  and  sister.  Mr.  Mac^ 
allan  was  a  gentleman :  he  knew  what  was  due  to  his  wife 
and  to  Mrs.  Beauly — she  would  not  have  entered  the  house 
if  experience  had  not  satisfied  her  of  that.  As  for  the  evi- 
dence of  the  under-gardener,  it  was  little  better  than  pure 
invention.  The  greater  part  of  the  conversation  which  he 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  151 

had  described  himself  as  overhearing  had  never  taken  place. 
The  little  that  was  really  said  (as  the  man  reported  it)  was 
said  jestingly ;  and  she  had  checked  it  immediately — as  the 
witness  had  himself  confessed.  For  the  rest,  Mr.  Macallan's 
behavior  toward  his  wife  was  invariably  kind  and  consider- 
ate. He  was  constantly  devising  means  to  alleviate  her  suf- 
ferings from  the  rheumatic  affection  which  confined  her  to 
her  bed  ;  he  had  spoken  of  her,  not  once  but  many  times, 
in  terms  of  the  sincerest  sympathy.  When  she  ordered  her 
husband  and  witness  to  leave  the  room,  on  the  day  of  her 
death,  Mr.  Macallan  said  to  witness  afterward,  "  We  must 
bear  with  her  jealousy,  poor  soul:  we  know  that  we  don't 
deserve  it."  In  that  patient  manner  he  submitted  to  her  in- 
firmities of  temper  from  first  to  last. 

The  main  interest  in  the  cross-examination  of  Mrs.  Beauly 
centred  in  a  question  which  was  put  at  the  end.  After  re- 
minding her  that  she  had  given  her  name,  on  being  sworn, 
as  "Helena  Beauly."  the  Lord  Advocate  said: 

"A  letter  addressed  to  the  prisoner,  and  signed  'Helena,' 
has  been  read  in  CouYt.  Look  at  it,  if  you  please.  Are  you 
the  writer  of  that  letter  ?" 

Before  the  witness  could  reply  the  Dean  of  Faculty  pro- 
tested against  the  question.  The  Judges  allowed  the  pro- 
test, and  refused  to  permit  the  question  to  be  put.  Mrs. 
Beauly  thereupon  withdrew.  She  had  betrayed  a  very  per- 
ceptible agitation  on  hearing  the  letter  referred  to,  and  on 
having  it  placed  in  her  hands.  This  exhibition  of  feeling 
was  variously  interpreted  among  the  audience.  Upon  the 
whole,  however,  Mrs.  Beauly's  evidence  was  considered  to 
have  aided  the  impression  which  the  mother's  evidence  had 
produced  in  the  prisoner's  favor. 

The  next  witnesses — both  ladies,  and  both  school  friends 
of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan — created  a  new  feeling  of  interest 
in  Court.  They  supplied  the  missing  link  in  the  evidence 
for  the  defense. 

The  first  of  the  ladies  declared  that  she  had  mentioned 
arsenic  as  a  means  of  improving  the  complexion  in  conver- 
sation with  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan.  She  had  never  used  it 
herself,  but  she  had  read  of  the  practice  of  eating  arsenic 
among  the  Styrian  peasantry  for  the  purpose  of  clearing  the 
color,  and  of  producing  a  general  appearance  of  plumpness 
ami  good  health.  She  positively  swore  that  she  had  related 


152  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

this  result  of  her  reading  to  the  deceased  lady  exactly  as 
she  now  related  it  in  Court. 

The  second  witness,  present  at  the  conversation  already 
mentioned,  corroborated  the  first  witness  in  every  particu- 
lar; and  added  that  she  had  procured  the  book  relating  to 
the  arsenic-eating  practices  of  the  Styrian  peasantry,  and 
their  results,  at  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  own  request.  This 
book  she  had  herself  dispatched  by  post  to  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan  at  Gleninch. 

There  was  but  one  assailable  point  in  this  otherwise  con- 
clusive evidence.  The  cross-examination  discovered  it. 

Both  the  ladies  were  asked,  in  turn,  if  Mrs.  Eustace  Mac- 
allan had  expressed  to  them,  directly  or  indirectly,  any  in- 
tention of  obtaining  arsenic,  with  a  view  to  the  improvement 
of  her  complexion.  In  each  case  the  answer  to  that  all-im- 
portant question  was,  No.  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  had  heard 
of  the  remedy,  and  had  received  the  book.  But  of  her  own 
intentions  in  the  future  she  had  not  said  one  word.  She  had 
begged  both  the  ladies  to  consider  the  conversation  as  strict- 
ly private — and  there  it  had  ended. 

It  required  no  lawyer's  eye  to  discern  the  fatal  defect 
which  was  now  revealed  in  the  evidence  for  the  defense. 
Every  intelligent  person  present  could  see  that  the  prison- 
er's chance  of  an  honorable  acquittal  depended  on  tracing 
the  poison  to  the  possession  of  his  wife — or  at  least  on  prov- 
ing her  expressed  intention  to  obtain  it.  In  either  of  these 
cases  the  prisoner's  Declaration  of  his  innocence  would  claim 
the  support  of  testimony,  which,  however  indirect  it  might 
be,  no  honest  and  intelligent  men  would  be  likely  to  resist. 
Was  that  testimony  forthcoming  ?  Was  the  counsel  for  the 
defense  not  at  the  end  of  his  resources  yet? 

The  crowded  audience  waited  in  breathless  expectation 
for  the  appearance  of  the  next  witness.  A  whisper  went 
round  among  certain  well-instructed  persons  that  the  Court 
was  now  to  see  and  hear  the  prisoner's  old  friend  —  already 
often  referred  to  in  the  course  of  the  Trial  as  "  Mr.  Dexter." 

After  a  brief  interval  of  delay  there  was  a  sudden  com- 
motion among  the  audience,  accompanied  by  suppressed  ex- 
clamations of  curiosity  and  surprise.  At  the  same  moment 
the  crier  summoned  the  new  witness  by  the  extraordinary 
name  of 

"  MISERRIMCS  DEXTER." 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  I  1      >       153 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    END   OF  THE   TRIAL. 

THE  calling  of  the  new  witness  provoked  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter among  the  audience — due  partly,  no  doubt,  to  the  strange 
name  by  which  he  had  been  summoned  ;  partly,  also,  to  the 
instinctive  desire  of  all  crowded  assemblies,  when  their  in- 
terest is  painfully  excited,  to  seize  on  any  relief  in  the  shape 
of  the  first  subject  of  merriment  which  may  present  itself. 
A  severe  rebuke  from  the  Bench  restored  order  among  the 
audience.  The  Lord  Justice  Clerk  declared  that  he  would 
"  clear  the  Court "  if  the  interruption  to  the  proceedings 
were  renewed. 

During  the  silence  which  followed  this  announcement  the 
new  witness  appeared. 

PGliding,  self-propelled  in  his  chair  on  wheels,  through  the 
opening  made  for  him  among  the  crowd,  a  strange  and  start- 
ling creature — literally  the  half  of  a  man— revealed  himself 
to  the  general  view.  A  coverlet  which  had  been  thrown 
over  his  chair  had  fallen  off  during  his  progress  through  the 
throng.  The  loss  of  it  exposed  to  the  public  curiosity  the 
head,  the  arms,  and  the  trunk  of  a  living  human  being:  ab- 
solutely deprived  of  the  lower  limbs.  To  make  this  deform- 
ity aJHhejT^ejatriking  and  all  the  more  terrible^the  victim 
of  it  was — as~to~h~is  face  and  his  body-^arTunusually  hand- 
some and  an  unusually  well-made  man.  His  long  silky  hair, 
of  a  bright  and  beautiful  chestnut  color,  fell  over  shoulders 
that  were  the  perfection  of  strength  and  grace.  His  face 
was  bright  with  vivacity  and  intelligence.  His  large  clear 
blue  eyes  and  his  long  delicate  white  hands  were  like  the 
eyes  and  hands  of  a  beautiful  woman.  He  would  have 
looked  effeminate  butlfor  the  manly  proportions  of  his  throat 
and  chest,  aided  in  their  effect  by  his  flowing  beard  and  long 
mustache,  of  a  lighter  chestnut  shade  than  the  color  of  his 
hair.  Never  had  a  magnificent  head  and  body  been  more 
hopelessly  ill-bestowed  than  in  this  instance !  Never  had 
Nature  committed  a  more  careless  or  a  more  cruel  mistake 
than  in  the  making  of  this  mini  ! 


154  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

He  was  sworn,  seated,  of  course,  in  his  chair.  Having 
given  his  name,  he  bowed  to  the  Judges,  and  requested  their 
permission  to  preface  his  evidence  with  a  word  of  explana- 
tion. 

"People  generally  laugh  when  they  first  hear  my  strange 
Christian  name,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  clear,  resonant  voice  which 
penetrated  to  the  remotest  corners  of  the  Court.  "I  may 
inform  the  good  people  here  that  many  names,  still  commop 
among  us,  have  their  significations,  and  that  mine  is  one  of 
them.  '  Alexander,'  for  instance,  means,  in  the  Greek,  '  a 
helper  of  men.'  '  David '  means,  in  Hebrew, '  well-beloved.' 
'  Francis '  means,  in  German, '  free.'  My  name, '  Miserrimus,' 
means,  in  Latin, '  most  unhappy.'  It  was  given  to  me  by  my 
father,  in  allusion  to  the  deformity  which  you  all  see — the 
deformity  with  which  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  born.  You 
won't  laugh  at '  Miserrimus '  again,  will  you  ?"  He  turned  to 
the  Dean  of  Faculty,  waiting  to  examine  him  for  the  defense. 
"  Mr.  Dean,  I  am  at  your  service.  I  apologize  for  delaying, 
even  for  a  moment,  the  proceedings  of  the  Court." 

He  delivered  his  little  address  with  perfect  grace  and  good- 
humor.  Examined  by  the  Dean,  he  gave  his  evidence  clear- 
ly, without  the  slightest  appearance  of  hesitation  or  reserve. 

"  I  was  staying  at  Gleninch  as  a  guest  in  the  house  at  the 
time  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death,"  he  began.  "  Doctor 
Jerome  and  Mr.  Gale  desired  to  see  me  at  a  private  interview 
— the  prisoner  being  then  in  a  state  of  prostration  which 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  attend  to  his  duties  as  master 
of  the  house.  At  this  interview  the  two  doctors  astonished 
and  horrified  me  by  declaring  that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan 
had  died  poisoned.  They  left  it  to  me  to  communicate  the 
dreadful  news  to  her  husband,  and  they  warned  me  that  a 
post-mortem  examination  muft  be  held  on  the  body. 

"If  the  Fiscal  had  seen  my  old  friend  when  I  communicat- 
ed the  doctors'  message,  I  doubt  if  he  would  have  ventured 
to  charge  the  prisoner  with  the  murder  of  his  wife.  To  my 
mind  the  charge  was  nothing  less  than  an  outrage.  I  resist- 
ed the  seizure  of  the  prisoner's  Diary  and  letters,  animated 
by  that  feeling.  Now  that  the  Diary  has  been  pi'oduced,  I 
agree  with  the  prisoner's  mother  in  denying  that  it  is  fair 
evidence  to  bring  against  him.  A  Diary  (when  it  extends 
beyond  a  bare  record  of  facts  and  dates)  is  nothing  but  an 
expression  of  the  poorest  and  weakest  side  in  the  character 


THE    LAW    AND    TIIK    LADY.  155 

of  the  person  who  keeps  it.  It  is,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the 
more  or  less  contemptible  outpouring  of  vanity  and  conceit 
which  the  writer  dare  not  exhibit  to  any  mortal  but  himself. 
I  am  the  prisoner's  oldest  friend.  I  solemnly  declare  that  I 
never  knew  he  could  write  downright  nonsense  until  I  heard 
his  Diary  read  in  this  Court ! 

"He  kill  his  wife !  He  treat  his  wife  with  neglect  and 
cruelty  !  I  venture  to  say,  from  twenty  years'  experience 
of  him,  that  there  is  no  man  in  this  assembly  who  is  consti- 
tutionally more  incapable  of  crime  and  more  incapable  of 
cruelty  than  the  man  who  stands  at  the  Bar.  While  I  am 
about  it,  I  go  farther  still.  I  even  doubt  whether  a  man  ca- 
pable of  crime  and  capable  of  cruelty  could  have  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  do  evil  to  the  woman  whose  untimely  death  is 
the  subject  of  this  inquiry. 

"I  have  heard  what  the  ignorant  and  prejudiced  nurse, 
Christina  Ormsay,  has  said  of  the  deceased  lady.  From  my 
own  personal  observation,  I  contradict  every  word  of  it. 
Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan— granting  her  personal  defects — was 
nevertheless  one  of  the  most  charming  women  I  ever  met 
with.  She  was  highly  bred,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word. 
I  never  saw  in  any  other  person  so  sweet  a  smile  as  hers,  or 
such  grace  and  beauty  of  movement  as  hers.  If  you  liked 
music,  she  sang  beautifully ;  and  few  professed  musicians  had 
such  a  touch  on  the  piano  as  hers.  If  you  preferred  talking, 
I  never  yet  met  with  the  man  (or  even  the  woman,  which  is 
saying  a  great  deal  more)  whom  her  conversation  could  not 
charm.  To  say  that  such  a  wife  as  this  could  be  first  cruelly 
neglepted,  and  then  barbarously  murdered,  by  the  man — no  ! 
by  the  martyr — who  stands  there,  is  to  tell  me  that  the  sun 
never  shines  at  noonday,  or  that  the  heaven  is  not  above  the 
earth. 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  know  that  the  letters  of  her  friends  show  that 
she  wrote  to  them  in  bitter  complaint  of  her  husband's  con- 
duct to  her.  But  remember  what  one  of  those  friends  (the 
wisest  and  the  best  of  them)  says  in  reply.  '  I  own  to  think- 
ing,' she  writes, '  that  your  sensitive  nature  exaggerates  or 
misinterprets  the  neglect  that  you  experience  at  the  hands 
of  your  husband.'  There,  in  that  one  sentence,  is  the  whole 
truth  !  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  nature  was  the  imaginative, 
self-tormenting  nature  of  a  poet.  No  mortal  love  could  ever 
have  been  refined  enough  for  her.  Trifles  which  women  of  a 


156  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

coarser  moral  fibre  would  have  passed  over  without  notice, 
were  causes  of  downright  agony  to  that  exquisitely  sensitive 
temperament.  There  are  persons  born  to  be  unhappy.  That 
poor  lady  was  one  of  them.  When  I  have  said  this,  I  have 
said  all. 

"  No  !     There  is  one  word  more  still  to  be  added. 

"  It  may  be  as  well  to  remind  the  prosecution  that  Mrs. 
Eustace  Macallan's  death  was  in  the  pecuniary  sense  a  seri- 
ous loss  to  her  husband.  He  had  insisted  on  having  the  whole 
of  her  fortune  settled  on  herself,  and  on  her  relatives  after 
her,  when  he  married.  Her  income  from  that  fortune  helped 
to  keep  in  splendor  the  house  and  grounds  at  Gleninch.  The 
prisoner's  own  resources  (aided  even  by  his  mother's  joint- 
ure) were  quite  inadequate  fitly  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
living  at  his  splendid  country-seat.  Knowing  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  can  positively  assert  that  the  wife's  death  has 
depi'ived  the  husband  of  two  thirds  of  his  income.  And  the 
prosecution,  viewing  him  as  the  basest  and  crudest  of  men, 
declares  that  he  deliberately  killed  her — with  all  his  pecuni- 
ary interests  pointing  to  the  preservation  of  her  life  ! 

"It  is  useless  to  ask  me  whether  I  noticed  any  thing  in 
the  conduct  of  the  prisoner  and  Mrs.  Beauly  which  might 
justify  a  wife's  jealousy.  I  never  observed  Mrs.  Beauly  with 
any  attention,  and  I  never  encouraged  the  prisoner  in  talk- 
ing to  me  about  her.  He  was  a  general  admirer  of  pretty 
women — so  far  as  I  know,  in  a  perfectly  innocent  way.  That 
he  could  prefer  Mrs.  Beauly  to  his  wife  is  inconceivable  to 
me,  unless  he  were  out  of  his  senses.  I  never  had  any  reason 
to  believe  that  he  was  out  of  his  senses. 

"  As  to  the  question  of  the  arsenic — I  mean  the  question 
of  tracing  that  poison  to  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Mac- 
allan— I  am  able  to  give  evidence  which  may,  perhaps,  be 
worthy  of  the  attention  of  the  Court. 

"  I  was  present  in  the  FiscaPs  office  during  the  examination 
of  the  papers,  and  of  the  other  objects  discovered  at  Glen- 
inch.  The  dressing-case  belonging  to  the  deceased  lady  was 
shown  to  me  after  its  contents  had  been  officially  investigat- 
ed by  the  Fiscal  himself.  I  happen  to  have  a  very  sensitive 
sense  of  touch.  In  handling  the  lid  of  the  dressing-case,  on 
the  inner  side  I  felt  something  at  a  certain  place  which  in- 
duced me  to  examine  the  whole  structure  of  the  lid  very 
carefully.  The  result  was  the  discovery  of  a  private  reposi- 


THE    LAW    AM)    TI1K    LADY.  157 

tory  concealed  in  the  space  between  the  outer  wood  and  the 
lining.  In  that  repository  I  found  the  bottle  which  I  now 
produce." 

The  further  examination  of  the  witness  was  suspended 
while  the  hidden  bottle  was  compared  with  the  bottles  prop- 
erly belonging  to  the  dressing-case. 

These  last  were  of  the  finest  cut  glass,  and  of  a  very  ele- 
gant form — entirely  unlike  the  bottle  found  in  the  private 
repository,  which  was  of  the  commonest  manufacture,  and  of 
the  shape  ordinarily  in  use  among  chemists.  Not  a  drop  of 
liquid,  not  the  smallest  atom  of  any  solid  substance,  remained 
in  it.  No  smell  exhaled  from  it — and,  more  unfortunately 
still  for  the  interests  of  the  defense,  no  label  was  found  at- 
tached to  the  bottle  when  it  had  been  discovered. 

The  chemist  who  had  sold  the  second  supply  of  arsenic  to 
the  prisoner  was  recalled  and  examined.  He  declared  that 
the  bottle  was  exactly  like  the  bottle  in  which  he  had  placed 
the  arsenic.  It  was,  however,  equally  like  hundreds  of  other 
bottles  in  his  shop.  In  the  absence  of  the  label  (on  which  he 
had  himself  written  the  word  "Poison"),  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  identify  the  bottle.  The  dressing-case  and  the 
deceased  lady's  bedroom  had  been  vainly  searched  for  the 
chemist's  missing  label — on  the  chance  that  it  might  have 
become  accidentally  detached  from  the  mysterious  empty 
bottle.  In  both  instances  the  search  had  been  without  re- 
sult. Morally,  it  was  a  fair  conclusion  that  this  might  be 
really  the  bottle  which  had  contained  the  poison.  Legally, 
there  was  not  the  slightest  proof  of  it. 

Thus  ended  the  last  effort  of  the  defense  to  trace  the  ar- 
senic purchased  by  the  prisoner  to  the  possession  of  his  wife. 
The  book  relating  the  practices  of  the  Stvrian  peasantry 
(found  in  the  deceased  lady's  room)  had  been  produced.  But 
could  the  book  prove  that  she  had  asked  her  husband  to  buy 
arsenic  for  her?  The  crumpled  paper,  with  the  grains  of 
powder  left  in  it,  had  been  identified  by  the  chemist,  and  had 
.been  declared  to  contain  grains  of  arsenic.  But  where  was 
the  proof  that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  hand  had  placed'  the 
packet  in  the  cabinet,  and  had  emptied  it  of  its  contents? 
No  direct  evidence  any  where  !  Nothing  but  conjecture ! 

The  renewed  examination  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  tone-lied 
on  matters  of  no  general  interest.  The  cross-examination 
resolved  itself,  in  substance,  into  a  mental  trial  of  strength 


158  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

between  the  witness  and  the  Lord  Advocate;  the  struggle 
terminating  (according  to  the  general  opinion)  in  favor  of  the 
witness.  One  question  and  one  answer  only  I  will  repeat 
here.  They  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  serious  importance  to 
the  object  that  I  had  in  view  in  reading  the  Trial. 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Dexter,"  the  Lord  Advocate  remarked,  in 
his  most  ironical  manner,  "that  you  have  a  theory  of  your 
own,  which  makes  the  death  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  no 
mystery  to  you  ?n 

"  I  may  have  my  own  ideas  on  that  subject,  as  on  other 
subjects,"  the  witness  replied.  "  But  let  me  ask  their  lord- 
ships, the  Judges :  Am  I  here  to  declare  theories  or  to  state 
facts?" 

I  made  a  note  of  that  answer.  Mr.  Dexter's  "  ideas  "  were 
the  ideas  of  a  true  friend  to  my  husband,  and  of  a  man  of  far 
more  than  average  ability.  They  might  be  of  inestimable 
value  to  me  in  the  coming  time — if  I  could  prevail  on  him 
to  communicate  them. 

I  may  mention,  while  I  am  writing  on  the  subject,  that  I 
added  to  this  first  note  a  second,  containing  an  observation 
of  my  own.  In  alluding  to  Mrs.  Beauly,  while  he  was  giving 
his  evidence,  Mr.  Dexter  had  spoken  of  her  so  slightingly — 
so  rudely,  I  might  almost  say — as  to  suggest  he  had  some 
strong  private  reasons  for  disliking  (perhaps1  for  distrusting) 
this  lady.  Here,  again,  it  might  be  of  vital  importance  to 
me  to  see  Mr.  Dexter,  and  to  clear  up,  if  I  could,  what  the 
dignity  of  the  Court  had  passed  over  without  notice. 

The  last  witness  had  been  now  examined.  The  chair  on 
wheels  glided  away  with  the  half-man  in  it,  and  was  lost  in 
a  distant  corner  of  the  Court.  The  Lord  Advocate  rose  to 
address  the  Jury  for  the  prosecution. 

I  do  not  scruple  to  say  that  I  never  read  any  thing  so  in- 
famous as  this  great  lawyer's  speech.  He  was  not  ashamed 
to  declare,  at  starting,  that  he  firmly  believed  the  prisoner  to 
be  guilty.  What  right  had  he  to  say  any  thing  of  the  sort?. 
Was  it  for  him  to  decide  ?  Was  he  the  Judge  and  Jury  both, 
I  should  like  to  know  ?  Having  begun  by  condemning  the 
prisoner  on  his  own  authority,  the  Lord  Advocate  proceeded 
to  pervert  the  most  innocent  actions  of  that  unhappy  man  so 
as  to  give  them  as  vile  an  aspect  as  possible.  Thus :  When 
Eustace  kissed  his  poor  wife's  forehead  on  her  death-bed,  he 


THE    LAW    ANL>   THE    LADY.  159 

did  it  to  create  a  favorable  impression  in  the  minds  of  the 
doctor  and  the  nurse  !  Again,  when  his  grief  under  his  be- 
reavement completely  overwhelmed  him,  he  was  triumphing 
in  secret,  and  acting  a  part !  If  you  looked  into  his  heart, 
you  would  see  there  a  diabolical  hatred  for  his  wife  and  an 
infatuated  passion  for  Mrs.  Beauly  !  In  every  thing  he  had 
said  he  had  lied  ;  in  every  thing  he  had  done  he  had  acted  like 
a  crafty  and  heartless  wretch  !  So  the  chief  counsel  for  the 
prosecution  spoke  of  the  prisoner,  standing  helpless  before 
him  at  the  Bar.  In  my  husband's  place,  if  I  could  have  done 
nothing  more,  I  would  have  thrown  something  at  his  head. 
As  it  was,  I  tore  the  pages  which  contained  the  speech  for 
the  prosecution  out  of  the  Report,  and  trampled  them  under 
my  feet — and  felt  all  the  better  too  for  having  done  it.  At 
the  same  time  I  feel  a  little  ashamed  of  having  revenged  my- 
self on  the  harmless  printed  leaves  now. 

The  fifth  day  of  the  Trial  opened  with  the  speech  for  the 
defense.  Ah,  what  a  contrast  to  the  infamies  uttered  by  the 
Lord  Advocate  was  the  grand  burst  of  eloquence  by  the  Dean 
of  Faculty,  speaking  on  my  husband's  side  ! 

This  illustrious  lawyer  struck  the  right  note  at  starting. 

"  I  yield  to  no  one,"  he  began,  "  in  the  pity  I  feel  lor  the 
wife.  But  I  say,  the  martyr  in  this  case,  from  first  to  last,  is 
the  husband.  Whatever  the  poor  woman  may  have  endured, 
that  unhappy  man  at  the  Bar  has  suffered,  and  is  now  suffer- 
ing, more.  If  he  had  not  been  the  kindest  of  men,  the  most 
docile  and  most  devoted  of  husbands,  he  would  never  have 
occupied  his  present  dreadful  situation.  A  man  of  a  meaner 
and  harder  nature  would  have  felt  suspicion  of  his  wife's  mo- 
tives when  she  asked  him  to  "buy  poison — would  have  seen 
through  the  wretchedly  commonplace  excuses  she  made  for 
wanting  it— and  would  have  wisely  and  cruelly  said,  'Xo.' 
The  prisoner  is  not  that  sort  of  man.  He  is  too  good  to  his 
wife,  too  innocent  of  any  evil  thought  toward  her,  or  toward 
any  one,  to  foresee  the  inconveniences  and  the  dangers  to 
which  his  fatal  compliance  may  expose  him.  And  what  is 
the  result  ?  He  stands  there,  branded  as  a  murderer,  because 
lie  was  too  high-minded  and  too  honorable  to  suspect  his 
wife." 

Speaking  thus  of  the  husband,  the  Dean  was  just  as  elo- 
quent and  just  as  unanswerable  when  he  came  to  speak  of 
the  wife. 


160  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"The  Lord  Advocate,"  he  said,  "has  asked,  with  the  bit- 
ter irony  for  which  he  is  celebrated  at  the  Scottish  Bar,  why 
we  have  failed  entirely  to  prove  that  the  prisoner  placed  the 
two  packets  of  poison  in  the  possession  of  his  wife.  I  say,  in 
answer,  we  have  proved,  first,  that  the  wife  was  passionately 
attached  to  the  husband  ;  secondly,  that  she  felt  bitterly  the 
defects  in  her  personal  appearance,  and  especially  the  defects 
in  her  complexion  ;  and,  thirdly,  that  she  was  informed  of  ar- 
senic as  a  supposed  remedy  for  those  defects,  taken  internally. 
To  men  who  know  any  thing  of  human  nature,  there  is  proof 
enough.  Does  my  learned  friend  actually  suppose  that  wom- 
en are  in  the  habit  of  mentioning  the  secret  artifices  and  ap- 
plications by  which  they  improve  their  personal  appearance? 
Is  it  in  his  experience  of  the  sex  that  a  woman  who  is  eager- 
ly bent  on  making  herself  attractive  to  a  man  would  tell  that 
man,  or  tell  any  body  else  who  might  communicate  with  him, 
that  the  charm  by  which  she  hoped  to  win  his  heart — say  the 
charm  of  a  pretty  complexion — had  been  artificially  acquired 
by  the  perilous  use  of  a  deadly  poison  ?  The  bare  idea  of 
such  a  thing  is  absurd.  Of  course  nobody  ever  heard  Mrs. 
Eustace  Macallan  speak  of  arsenic.  Of  course  nobody  ever 
surprised  her  in  the  act  of  taking  arsenic.  It  is  in  the  evi- 
dence that  she  would  not  even  confide  her  intention  to  try 
the  poison  to  the  friends  who  had  told  her  of  it  as  a  remedy, 
and  who  had  got  her  the  book.  She  actually  begged  them 
to  consider  their  brief  conversation  on  the  subject  as  strictly 
private.  From  first  to  last,  poor  creature,  she  kept  her  se- 
cret; just  as  she  would  have  kept  her  secret  if  she  had  worn 
false  hair,  or  if  she  had  been  indebted  to  the  dentist  for  her 
teeth.  And  there  you  see  her  husband,  in  peril  of  his  life, 
because  a  woman  acted  like  a  woman — as  your  wives,  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Jury,  would,  in  a  similar  position,  act  toward 
You." 

After  such  glorious  oi-atory  as  this  (I  wish  I  had  room  to 
quote  more  of  it !),  the  next,  and  last,  speech  delivered  at  the 
Trial — that  is  to  say,  the  Chai'ge  of  the  Judge  to  the  Jury — 
is  dreary  reading  indeed. 

His  lordship  first  told  the  Jury  that  they  could  not  expect 
to  have  direct  evidence  of  the  poisoning.  Such  evidence 
hardly  ever  occurred  in  cases  of  poisoning.  They  must  be 
satisfied  with  the  best  circumstantial  evidence.  All  quite 
tVue,  I  dare  say.  But,  having  told  the  Jury  they  might  ac- 


THE    LAW    AND   TIIL    LADY.  161 

cept  circumstantial  evidence,  he  turned  back  again  on  his 
own  words,  and  warned  them  against  being  too  ready  to 
trust  it !  "You  must  have  evidence  satisfactory  and  con- 
vincing to  your  own  minds,"  he  said,  "in  which  you  find  no 
conjectures — but  only  irresistible  and  just  inferences."  Who 
is  to  decide  what  is  a  just  inference?  And  what  is  circum- 
stantial evidence  but  conjecture  ? 

After  this  specimen,  I  need  give  no  further  extracts  from 
the  summing  up.  The  Jury,  thoroughly  bewildered  no  doubt, 
took  refuge  in  a  compromise.  They  occupied  an  hour  in  con- 
sidering and  debating  among  themselves  in  their  own  room. 
(A  jury  of  women  wouM  not  have  taken  a  minute!)  Then 
they  returned  into  Court,  and  gave  their  timid  and  trimming 
Scotch  Verdict  in  these  words : 

"  Not  Proven." 

Some  slight  applause  followed  among  the  audience,  which 
was  instantly  checked.  The  prisoner  was  dismissed  from 
the  Bar.  He  slowly  retired,  like  a  man  in  deep  grief;  his 
head  sunk  on  his  breast — not  looking  at  any  one,  and  not  re- 
plying when  his  friends  spoke  to  him.  He  knew,  poor  fellow, 
the  slur  that  the  Verdict  left  on  him.  "  We  don't  say  you 
are  innocent  of  the  crime  charged  against  you ;  we  only  say 
there  is  not  evidence  enough  to  convict  you.'\  In  that  lame 
and  impotent  conclusion  the  proceedings  ended  at  the  time. 
And  there  they  would  have  remained  for  all  time — but  for 
Me. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

I    SEE    MY    WAY. 

I.v  the  gray  light  of  the  new  morning  I  closed  the  Report 
of  my  husband's  Trial  for  the  Murder  of  his  first  Wife. 

NQ  sense  of  fatigue  overpowered  me.  I  had  no  wish,  after 
my  long  hours  of  reading  and  thinking,  to  lie  down  and  sleep. 
It  was  strange,  but  it  was  so.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  slept,  and 
had  now  just  awakened — a  new  woman,  with  a  new  mind. 

I  could  now  at  last  understand  Eustace's  desertion  of  me. 
To  a  man  of  his  refinement  it  would  have  been  a  martyrdom 
to  meet  his  wife  after  she  had  read  the  things  published  of 
him  to  all  the  world  in  the  Report.  I  felt  that  as  he  would 
have  felt  it.  At  the  same  time  I  thought  he  might  have 


162  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

trusted  Me  to  make  amends  to  him  for  the  martyrdom,  and 
might  have  come  back.  Perhaps  it  might  yet  end  in  his 
coming  back.  In  the  mean  while,  and  in  that  expectation, 
I  pitied  and  forgave  him  with  my  whole  heart. 

One  little  matter  only  dwelt  ou  my  mind  disagreeably,  in 
spite  of  my  philosophy.  Did  Eustace  still  secretly  love  Mrs. 
Beauly?  or  had  I  extinguished  that  passion  in  him?  To 
what  order  of  beauty  did  this  lady  belong?  Were  we,  by 
any  chance,  the  least  in  the  world  like  one  another  ? 

The  window  of  my  room  looked  to  the  east.  I  drew  up 
the  blind,  and  saw  the  sun  rising  grandly  in  a  clear  sky. 
The  temptation  to  go  out  and  breathe  the  fresh  morning  air 
was  irresistible.  I  put  on  my  hat  and  shawl,  and  took  the 
Report  of  the  Trial  under  my  arm.  The  bolts  of  the  back 
door  were  easily  drawn.  In  another  minute  I  was  out  in 
Benjamin's  pretty  little  garden. 

Composed  and  strengthened  by  the  inviting  solitude  and 
the  delicious  air,  I  found  courage  enough  to  face  the  serious 
question  that  now  confronted  me  —  the  question  of  the 
future. 

I  had  read  the  Trial.  I  had  vowed  to  devote  my  life  to 
the  sacred  object  of  vindicating  my  husband's  innocence. 
A  solitary,  defenseless  woman,  I  stood  pledged  to  myself  to 
carry  that  desperate  resolution  through  to  an  end.  How 
was  I  to  begin  ? 

The  bold  way  of  beginning  was  surely  the  wise  way  in 
such  a  position  as  mine.  I  had  good  reasons  (founded,  as  I 
have  already  mentioned,  on  the  important  part  played  by 
this  witness  at  the  Trial)  for  believing  that  the  fittest  person 
to  advise  and  assist  me  was — Miserrimus  Dexter.  He  might 
disappoint  the  expectations  that  I  had  fixed  on  him,  or  he 
might  refuse  to  help  me,  or  (like  my  uncle  Starkweather)  he 
might  think  I  had  taken  leave  of  my  senses.  All  these  events 
were  possible.  Nevertheless,  I  held  to  my  resolution  to  try 
the  experiment.  If  he  were  in  the  land  of  the  living,  I  decided 
that  my  first  step  at  starting  should  take  me  to  the  deformed 
man  with  the  strange  name. 

Supposing  he  received  me,  sympathized  with  me,  under- 
stood me?  What  would  he  say?  The  nurse,  in  her  evi- 
dence, had  reported  him  as  speaking  in  an  off-hand  manner. 
He  would  say,  in  all  probability, "  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ? 
And  how  can  I  help  you  to  do  it  ?" 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  163 

Had  I  answers  ready  if  those  two  plain  questions  were  put 
to  me?  Yes!  if  I  dared  own  to  any  human  creature  what 
was  at  that  very  moment  secretly  fermenting  in  my  mind. 
Yes !  if  I  could  confide  to  a  stranger  a  suspicion  roused  in 
me  by  the  Trial  which  I  have  been  thus  far  afraid  to  mention 
even  in  these  pages  ! 

It  must,  nevertheless,  be  mentioned  now.  My  suspicion 
led  to  results  which  are  part  of  my  story  and  part  of  my 
life. 

Let  me  own,  then,  to  begin  with,  that  I  closed  the  record 
of  the  Trial  actually  agreeing  in  one  important  particular 
with  the  opinion  of  my  enemy  and  my  husband's  enemy — 
the  Lord  Advocate  !  He  had  characterized  the  explanation 
of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death  offered  by  the  defense  as  a 
"  clumsy  subterfuge,  in  which  no  reasonable  being  could  dis- 
cern the  smallest  fragment  of  probability."  Without  going 
quite  so  far  as  this,  I,  too,  could  see  no  reason  whatever  in 
the  evidence  for  assuming  that  the  poor  woman  had  taken 
an  overdose  of  the  poison  by  mistake.  I  believed  that  she 
had  the  arsenic  secretly  in  her  possession,  and  that  she  had 
tried,  or  intended  to  try,  the  use  of  it  internally^  for  the  pur- 
pose of  improving  her  complexion.  But  farther  than  this  I 
could  not  advance.  The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  plain- 
ly justified  the  lawyers  for  the  prosecution  seemed  to  me  to 
be  in  declaring  that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  had  died  by  the. 
hand  of  a  poisoner — although  they  were  entirely  and  cer- 
tainly mistaken  in  charging  my  husband  with  the  crime. 

My  husband  being  innocent,  somebody  else,  on  my  own 
showing,  must  be  guilty.  Who  among  the  persons  inhabiting 
the  house  at  the  time  had  poisoned  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  ? 
My  suspicion  in  answering  that  question  pointed  straight 
to  a  woman.  And  the  name  of  that  woman  was — Mrs. 
Beauly ! 

Yes  !  To  that  startling  conclusion  I  had  arrived.  It  was, 
to  my  mind,  the  inevitable  result  of  reading  the  evidence. 

Look  back  for  a  moment  to  the  letter  produced  in  court, 
signed  "Helena,"  and  addressed  to  Mr.  Macallan.  No  rea- 
sonable person  can  doubt  (though  the  Judges  excused  her 
from  answering  the  question)  that  Mrs.  Beauly  was  the  writer. 
Very  well.  The  letter  offers,  as  I  think,  trustworthy  evidence 
to  show  the  state  of  the  woman's  mind  when  she  paid  her 
visit  to  Gleninch. 


164  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Writing  to  Mr.  Macallan,  at  a  time  when  she  was  married 
to  another  man — a  man  to  whom  she  had  engaged  herself 
before  she  met  with  Mr.  Macallan — what  does  she  say  ?  She 
says,  "  When  I  think  of  your  life  sacrificed  to  that  wretched 
woman,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you.'"  And,  again,  she  says, "  If 
it  had  been  my  unutterable  happiness  to  love  and  cherish 
the  best,  the  dearest  of  men,  what  a  paradise  of  our  own  we 
might  have  lived  in,  what  delicious  hours  we  might  have 
known  !" 

If  this  is  not  the  language  of  a  woman  shamelessly  and 
furiously  in  love  with  a  man — not  her  husband — what  is? 
She  is  so  full  of  him  that  even  her  idea  of  another  world  (see 
the  letter)  is  the  idea  of"  embracing  "  Mr.  Macallan's  "  soul." 
In  this  condition  of  mind  and  morals,  the  lady  one  day  finds 
herself  and  her  embraces  free,  through  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band. As  soon  as  she  can  decently  visit  she  goes  visiting ; 
and  in  due  course  of  time  she  becomes  the  guest  of  the  man 
\\homsheadores.  His  wife  is  ill  in  her  bed.  The  one  other 
visitor  at  Gleninch  is  a  cripple,  who  can  only  move  in  his 
chair  on  wheels.  The  lady  has  the  house  and  the  one  beloved 
object  in  it  all  to  herself.  No  obstacle  stands  between  her 
and  "the  unutterable  happiness  of  loving  and  cherishing 
the  best,  the  dearest  of  men"  but  a  poor,  sick,  ugly  wife,  for 
whom  Mr.  Macallan  never  has  felt,  and  never  can  feel,  the 
smallest  particle  of  love. 

Is  it  perfectly  absurd  to  believe  that  such  a  woman  as 
this,  impelled  by  these  motives,  and  surrounded  by  these 
circumstances,  would  be  capable  of  committing  a  crime — if 
the  safe  opportunity  offered  itself? 

What  does  her  own  evidence  say? 

She  admits  that  she  had  a  convei'sation  with  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan,  in  which  that  lady  "  questioned  her  on  the  subject 
of  cosmetic  applications  to  the  complexion."  Did  nothing 
else  take  place  at  that  interview  ?  Did  Mrs.  Beanly  make  no 
discoveries  (afterward  turned  to  fatal  account)  of  the  danger- 
ous experiment  which  her  hostess  was  then  trying  to  improve 
her  ugly  complexion  ?  All  we  know  is  that  Mrs.  Beauly  said 
nothing  about  it. 

What  does  the  under-gardener  say  ? 

He  heard  a  conversation  between  Mr.  Macallan  and  Mrs. 

Beauly,  which  shows  that  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  Beauly  be- 

*  coming  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  had  certainly  presented  itself 


TI1K    LAW    AM)    THE    J.ADV.  165 

to  that  lady's  mind,  and  was  certainly  considered  by  her  to 
be  too  dangerous  a  topic  of  discourse  to  be  pursued.  Inno- 
cent Mr.  Macallan  would  have  gone  on  talking.  Mrs.  Beauly 
is  discreet,  and  stops  him. 

And  what  does  the  nurse  (Christina  Orrasay)  tell  us? 

Ort  the  day  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death,  the  nurse  is 
dismissed  from  attendance,  and  is  sent  down -stairs.  She 
leaves  the  sick  woman,  recovered  from  her  first  attack  of  ill- 
ness, and  able  to  amuse  herself  with  writing.  The  nurse  re- 
mains away  for  half  an  hour,  and  then  gets  uneasy  at  not 
hearing  the  invalid's  bell.  She  goes  to  the  Morning-Room 
to  consult  Mr.  Macallan,  and  there  she  hears  that  Mrs.  Beau- 
ly is  missing.  Mr.  Macallan  doesn't  know  where  she  is, 
and  asks  Mr.  Dexter  if  he  has  seen  her.  Mr.  Dexter  had  not 
set  eyes  on  her.  At  what  time  does  the  disappearance  of 
Mrs.  Beauly  take  place  ?  At  the  very  time  when  Chris- 
tina Oyusay  had  left  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  alone  in  her 
room ! 

Meanwhile  the  bell  rings  at  last — rings  violently.  The 
nurse  goes  back  to  the  sick-room  at  five  minutes  to  eleven, 
or  thereabouts,  and  finds  that  the  bad  symptoms  of  the 
morning  have  returned  in  a  gravely  aggravated  form.  A 
second  dose  of  poison — larger  than  the  dose  administered  in 
the  early  morning — has  been  given  during  the  absence  of 
the  nurse,  and  (observe)  during  the  disappearance  also  of 
Mrs.  Beauly.  The  nurse,  looking  out  into  the  corridor  for 
help,  encounters  Mrs.  Beauly  herself,  innocently  on  her  way' 
from  her  own  room — just  up,  we  are  to  suppose,  at  eleven  in 
the  morning ! — to  inquire  after  the  sick  woman. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Beauly  accompanies  Mr.  Macallan  to  visit 
the  invalid.  The  dying  woman  casts  a  strange  look  at  both 
of  them,  and  tells  them  to  leave  her.  Mr.  Macallan  under- 
stands this  as  the  fretful  outbreak  of  a  person  in  pain,  and 
waits  in  the  room  to  tell  the  nurse  that  the  doctor  is  sent  for. 
What  does  Mrs.  Beauly  do?  She  runs  out  pani^stricken 
the  instant  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  looks  at  her.  Even  Mrs. 
Beauly,  it  seems,  has  a  conscience  ! 

Is  there  nothing  to  justify  suspicion  in  such  circumstances 
as  these — circumstances  sworn  to,  on  the  oaths,  of  the  wit- 
nesses ? 

To  me  the  conclusion  is  plain.     Mrs.  Beauly's  hand  gave 
that  wond  dose  of  poison.     Admit  this;  and  the  inference 
TT 


10Q  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

follows  that  she  also  gave  the  first  dose  in  the  early  morning. 
How  could  she  do  it?  Look  again  at  the  evidence.  The 
nurse  admits  that  she  was  asleep  from  past  two  in  the  morn- 
ing to  six.  She  also  speaks  of  a  locked  door  of  communica- 
tion with  the  sick-room,  the  key  of  which  had  been  removed, 
nobody  knew  by  whom.  Some  person  must  have  stolen  that 
key.  Why  not  Mrs.  Beauly  ? 

One  word  more,  and  all  that  I  had  in  my  mind  at  that 
time  will  be  honestly  revealed. 

.  Miserrimus  Dexter,  under  cross-examination,  had  indirectly 
admitted  that  he  had  ideas  of  his  own  on  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Eustace  Macallan's  death.  At  the  same  time  he  had  spoken 
of  Mrs.  Beauly  in  a  tone  which  plainly  betrayed  that  he  was 
no  friend  to  that  lady.  Did  he  suspect  her  too?  My  chief 
motive  in  deciding  to  ask  his  advice  before  I  applied  to  any 
one  else  was  to  find  an  opportunity  of  putting  that  question 
to  him.  If  he  really  thought  of  her  as  I  did,  my  course  was 
clear  before  me.  The  next  step  to  take  would  be  carefully 
to  conceal  my  identity — and  then  to  present  myself,  in  the 
character  of  a  harmless  stranger,  to  Mrs.  Beauly. 

There  were  difficulties,  of  course,  in  my  way.  The  first 
and  greatest  difficulty  was  to  obtain  an  introduction  to 
Miserrimus  Dexter. 

The  composing  influence  of  the  fresh  air  in  the  garden  had 
by  this  time  made  me  readier  to  lie  down  and  rest  than  to 
occupy  my  mind  in  reflecting  on  my  difficulties.  Little  by 
little  I  grew  too  drowsy  to  think — then  too  lazy  to  go  on 
walking.  My  bed  looked  wonderfully  inviting  as  I  passed 
by  the  open  window  of  my  room. 

In  five  minutes  more  I  had  accepted  the  imitation  of  the 
bed,  and  had  said  farewell  to  my  anxieties  and  my  troubles. 
In  five  minutes  more  I  was  fast  asleep. 

A  discreetly  gentle  knock  at  my  door  was  the  first  sound 
that  aroused  me.  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  good  old  Benja- 
min speajj|ng  outside. 

"  My  dear !  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  starved  if  I  let  you 
sleep  any  longer.  It  is  half-past  one  o'clock;  and  a  friend 
of  yours  has  come  to  lunch  with  us." 

A  friend  of  mine?  What  friends  had  I?  My  husband 
was  far  away;  and  my  uncle  Starkweather  had  given  me 
up  in  despair. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  cried  out  from  my  bed,  through  the  door. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  167 

"  Major  Fitz-David,"  Benjamin  answered,  by  the  same  me- 
dium. 

I  sprang  out  of  bed.  The  very  man  I  wanted  was  waiting 
to  see  me!  Major  Fitz-David,  as  the  phrase  is,  knew  every 
body.  Intimate  with  my  husband,  ho  would  certainly  know 
my  husband's  old  friend — Miserrimus  Dexter. 

Shall  I  confess  that  I  took  particular  pains  with  my  toilet, 
and  that  I  kept  the  luncheon  waiting?  The  woman  doesn't 
live  who  would  have  done  otherwise — when  she  had  a  par- 
ticular favor  to  ask  of  Major  Fitz-David. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    MAJOR    MAKES    DIFFICULTIES. 

As  I  opened  the  dining-room  door  the  Major  hastened  to 
meet  me.  He  looked  the  brightest  and  the  youngest  of  liv- 
ing elderly  gentlemen,  with  his  smart  blue  frock-coat,  his 
winning  smile,  his  ruby  ring,  and  his»ready  compliment. 
It  was  quite  cheering  to  meet  the  modern  Don  Juan  once 
more. 

"I  don't  ask  after  your  health,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ; 
"  your  eyes  answer  me,  my  dear  lady,  before  I  can  put  the 
question.  At  your  age  a  long  sleep  is  the  true  beauty- 
draught.  Plenty  of  bed  —  there  is  the  simple  secret  of 
keeping  your  good  looks  and  living  a  long  life — plenty  of 
bed  !" 

"  I  have  not  been  so  long  in  my  bed,  Major,  as  you  sup- 
pose. To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been  up  all  night,  reading." 

Major  Fitz-David  lifted  his  well-painted  eyebrows  in  po- 
iite  surprise. 

"  What  is  the  happy  book  which  has  interested  you  so 
deeply  V"  he  asked. 

"The  book,"  I  answered,  "is  the  Trial  of  my  husband  for 
the  murder  of  his  first  wife." 

"Don't  mention  that  horrid  book  !"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't 
speak  of  that  dreadful  subject  !  What  have  beauty  and  grace 
to  do  with  Trials,  Poisonings,  Horrors  V  Whv,  my  charming 
friend,  profane  your  lips  by  talking  of  such  things?  Why 
frighten  away  the  Loves  and  the  Graces  that  lie  hid  in  your 
smile.  Humor  an  old  fellow  who  adores  the  Loves  and  the 


168  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Graces,  and  who  asks  nothing  better  than  to  sun  himself  in 
your  smiles.  Luncheon  is  ready.  Let  us  be  cheerful.  Let 
us  laugh  and  lunch." 

He  led  me  to  the  table,  and  filled  my  plate  and  my  glass 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  considered  himself  to  be  engaged 
in  one  of  the  most  important  occupations  of  his  life.  Benja- 
min kept  the  conversation  going  in  the  interval. 

"Major  Fitz-David  brings  you  some  news,  my  dear,"  he 
said.  "Your  mother-in-law,  Mrs.  Macallan,  is  coining  here 
to  see  you  to-day." 

My  mother-in-law  coming  to  see  me  !  I  turned  eagerly  to 
the  Major  for  further  information. 

"  Has  Mrs.  Macallan  heard  any  thing  of  my  husband  ?"  I 
asked.  "Is  she  coming  here  to  tell  me  about  him  ?" 

"She  has  heard  from  him,  I  believe,"  said  the  Major,  "and 
she  has  also  heard  from  your  uncle  the  vicar.  Our  excellent 
Starkweather  has  written  to  her — to  what  purpose  I  have 
not  been  informed.  I  only  know  that  on  receipt  of  his  let- 
ter she  has  decided  on  paying  you  a  visit.  I  met  the  old 
lady  last  night  at»a  party,  and  I  tried  hard  to  discover 
whether  she  were  coming  to  you  as  your  friend  or  your  en- 
emy. My  powers  of  persuasion  were  completely  thrown 
away  on  her.  The  fact  is,"  said  the  Major,  speaking  in  the 
character  of  a  youth  of  five-and-twenty  making  a  modest 
confession,  "  I  don't  get  on  well  with  old  women.  Take  the 
will  for  the  deed,  my  sweet  friend.  I  have  tried  to  be  of 
some  use  to  you — and  have  failed." 

Those  words  offered  me  the  opportunity  for  which  I  was 
waiting.  I  determined  not  to  lose  it. 

"  You  can  be  of  the  greatest  use  to  me,"  I  said,  "  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  presume,  Major,  on  your  past  kindness.  I 
want  to  ask  you  a  question  ;  and  I  may  have  a  favor  t$  beg 
when  you  have  answered  me." 

Major  Fitz-David  set  down  his  wine-glass  on  its  way  to 
his  lips,  and  looked  at  me  with  an  appearance  of  breathless 
interest. 

"Command  me,  my  dear  lady — I  am  yours  and  yours 
only,"  said  the  gallant  old  gentleman.  "  What  do  you  wish 
to  ask  me  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  ask  if  you  know  Miserrimus  Dexter." 

"Good  Heavens!"  cried  the  Major;  "that  is  an  unex- 
pected question  !  Know  Miserrimus  Dexter  ?  I  have  known 


Till:    LAW    AM)    THE    LAI>Y.  1G9 

him  for  more  years  than  I  like  to  reckon  up.  What  can  be 
your  object — " 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  my  object  is  in  two  words,"  I  inter- 
posed. "  I  want  you  to  give  me  an  introduction  to  Miserri- 
mus  Dexter." 

My  impression  is  that  the  Major  turned  pale  under  his 
paint.  This,  at  any  rate,  is  certain — his  sparkling  little  gray 
eyes  looked  at  me  in  undisguised  bewilderment  and  alarm. 

"You  want  to  know  Miserrimus  Dexter?"  he  repeated, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  doubted  the  evidence  of  his  own 
senses.  "Mr.  Benjamin,  have  I  taken  too  much  of  your  ex- 
cellent wine?  Am  I  the  victim  of  a  delusion — or  did  our 
fair  friend  really  ask  me  to  give  her  an  introduction  to 
Miserrimus  Dexter?" 

Benjamin  looked  at  me  in  some  bewilderment  on  his  side, 
and  answered,  quite  seriously, 

"  I  think  you  said  so,  my  dear." 

"  I  certainly  said  so,"  I  rejoined.  "  What  is  there  so  very 
sin-prising  in  my  request?" 

"The  man  is  mad!"  cried  the  Major.  "In  all  England 
you  could  not  have  picked  out  a  person  more  essentially  un- 
fit to  be  introduced  to  a  lady — to  a  young  lady  especially — 
than  Dexter.  Have  you  heard  of  his  horrible  deformity  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  it — and  it  doesn't  daunt  me." 

"  Doesn't  daunt  you  ?  My  dear  lady,  the  man's  mind  is 
as  deformed  as  his  body.  What  Voltaire  said  satirically  of 
the  character  of  his  countrymen  in  general  is  literally  true 
of  Miserrimus  Dexter.  Pie  is  a  mixture  of  the  tiger  and  the 
monkey.  At  one  moment  he  would  frighten  you,  and  at  the 
next  he  would  set  you  screaming  with  laughter.  I  don't 
denj£  that  he  is  clever  in  some  respects — brilliantly  clever,  I 
admit.  And  I  don't  say  that  he  has  ever  committed  any 
acts  of  violence,  or  ever  willingly  injured  any  body.  But,  for 
all  that,  he  is  mad,  if  ever  a  man  were  mad  yet.  Forgive  me 
if  the  inquiry  is  impertinent.  What  can  your  motive  possi- 
bly be  for  wanting  an  introduction  to  Miserrimus  Dexter?"1 

"  I  want  to  consult  him?" 

"May  I  ask  on  what  subject?" 

"  On  the  subject  of  my  husband's  Trial." 

Major  Fitz-David  groaned,  and  sought  a  momentary  con- 
solation in  his  friend  Benjamin's  claret. 

"  That  dreadful  subject  again  !"  he  exclaimed.    "  Mr.  Ben- 


170  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

jamin,  why  does  she  persist  in  dwelling  on  that  dreadful  sub- 
ject ?" 

"  I  must  dwell  on  what  is  now  the  one  employment  and 
the  one  hope  of  my  life,"  I  said.  "I  have  reason  to  hope 
that  Miserrimus  Dexter  can  help  me  to  clear  my  husband's 
character  of  the  stain  which  the  Scotch  Verdict  has  left  on 
it.  Tiger  and  monkey  as  he  may  be,  I  am  ready  to  run  the 
risk  of  being  introduced  to  him.  And  I  ask  you  again  — 
rashly  and  obstinately  as  I  fear  you  will  think  —  to  give  me 
the  introduction.  It  will  put  you  to  no  inconvenience.  I 
won't  trouble  you  to  escort  me ;  a  letter  to  Mr.  Dexter  will 
do." 

The  Major  looked  piteously  at  Benjamin,  and  shook  his 
head.  Benjamin  looked  piteously  at  the  Major,  and  shook 
his  head.  - 

"  She  appears  to  insist  on  it,"  said  the  Major. 

"  Yes,"  said  Benjamin.     "  She  appears  to  insist  on  it." 

"I  won't  take  the  responsibility,  Mr.  Benjamin,  of  sending 
her  alone  to  Miserrimus  Dexter." 

"  Shall  I  go  with  her,  sir  ?" 

The  Major  reflected.  Benjamin,  in  the  capacity  of  protec- 
tor, did  not  appear  to  inspire  our  military  friend  with  con- 
fidence. After  a  moment's  consideration  a  new  idea  seemed 
to  strike  him.  He  turned  to  me. 

"My  charming  friend,"  he  said,  "  be  more  charming  than 
ever — consent  to  a  compromise.  Let  us  treat  this  difficulty 
about  Dexter  from  a  social  point  of  view.  What  do  you  say 
to  a  little  dinner?" 

"  A  little  dinner  ?"  I  repeated,  not  in  the  least  undei'stand- 
ing  him. 

"  A  little  dinner,"  the  Major  reiterated,  "  at  my  house. 
You  insist  on  my  introducing  you  to  Dexter,  and  I  refuse  to 
trust  you  alone  with  that  crack-brained  personage.  The"only 
alternative  under  the  circumstances  is  to  invite  him  to  meet 
you,  and  to  let  you  form  your  own  opinion  of  him  —  under 
the  protection  of  my  roof.  Who  shajl  we  have  to  meet  you 
besides?"  pursued  the  Major, brightening  with  hospitable  in- 
tentions. "  We  want  a  perfect  galaxy  of  beauty  around  the 
table,  as  a  species  of  compensation,  when  we  have  got  Miser- 
rimus Dexter  as  one  of  the  guests.  Madame  Mirliflore  is  still 
in  London.  You  would  be  sure  to  like  her — she  is  charming; 
she  possesses  your  firmness,  your  extraordinary  tenacity  of 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  1V1 

purpose.  Yes,  we  will  have  Madame  Mirliflore.  Who  else? 
Shall  we  say  Lady  Clarinda?  Another  charming  person,  Mr. 
Benjamin  !  You  would  be  sure  to  admire  her — she  is  so  sym- 
pathetic, she  resembles  in  so  many  respects  our  fair  friend 
here.  Yes,  Lady  Clarinda  shall  be  one  of  us;  and  you  shall 
sit  next  to  her,  Mr.  Benjamin,  as  a  proof  of  my  sincere  regard 
for  you.  Shall  we  have  my  young  prima  donna  to  sing  to  us 
in  the  evening  ?  I  think  so.  She  is  pretty ;  she  will  assist 
in  obscuring  the  deformity  of  Dexter.  Very  well;  there  is 
our  party  complete  !  I  will  shut  myself  up  this  evening  and 
approach  the  question  of  dinner  with  my  cook.  Shall  we  say 
this  day  week,"  asked  the  Major,  taking  out  his  pocket-book, 
"  at  eight  o'clock  ?" 

I  consented  to  the  proposed  compromise  —  but  not  very 
willingly.  With  a  letter  of  introduction,  I  might  have  seen 
Miserrimus  Dexter  that  afternoon.  As  it  was,  the  "  little  din- 
ner" compelled  me  to  wait  in  absolute  inaction  through  a 
whole  week.  However,  there  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  sub- 
mit. Major  Fitz-David,  in  his  polite  way,  could  be  as  obsti- 
nate as  I  was.  He  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind;  and 
further  opposition  on  my  part  would  be  of  no  service  to  me. 

"Punctually  at  eight,  Mr.  Benjamin,"  reiterated  the  Ma- 
jor. "  Put  it  down  in  your  book." 

Benjamin  obeyed — with  a  side  look  at  me,  which  I  was  at 
no  loss  to  interpret.  My  good  old  friend  did  not  relish  meet- 
ing a  man  at  dinner  who  was  described  as  "  half  tiger,  half 
monkey  ;"  and  the  privilege  of  sitting  next  to  Lady  Clarinda 
rather  daunted  than  delighted  him.  It  was  all  my  doing,  and 
he  too  had  no  choice  but  to  submit.  "  Punctually  at  eight, 
sir,"  said  poor  old  Benjamin,  obediently  recording  his  for- 
midable engagement.  "Please  to  take  another  glass  of  wine." 

The  Major  looked  at  his  watch,  and  rose — with  fluent  apol- 
ogies for  abruptly  leaving  the  table. 

"-It  is  later  than  I  thought,"  he  said.  "  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment with  a  friend — a  female  friend;  a  most  attractive  per- 
son. You  a  little  remind  me  of  her,  my  dear  lady  —  you 
resemble  her  in  complexion  :  the  same  creamy  paleness.  I 
adore  creamy  paleness.  As  I  was  saying,  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment with  my  friend  ;  she  does  me  the  honor  to  ask  my  opin- 
ion on  some  very  remarkable  specimens  of  old  lace.  I  have 
studied  old  lace.  I  study  every  thing  that  can  make  me  use- 
ful or  agreeable  to  your  enchanting  sex.  Yon  won't  forget 


172  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

our  little  dinner?  I  will  send  Dexter  his  invitation  the  mo- 
ment I  get  home."  He  took  my  hand  and  looked  at  it  crit- 
ically, with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side.  "  A  delicious  hand," 
he  said  ;  "you  don't  mind  my  looking  at  it — you  don't  mind 
my  kissing  it,  do  you?  A  delicious  hand  is  one  of  my  weak- 
nesses. Forgive  my  weaknesses.  I  promise  to  repent  and 
amend  one  of  these  days." 

"  At  your  age,  Major,  do  you  think  you  have  much  time  to 
•lose  ?"  asked  a  strange  voice,  speaking  behind  us. 

We  all  three  looked  around  toward  the  door.  There  stood 
my  husband's  mother,  smiling  satirically,  with  Benjamin's 
shy  little  maid-servant  waiting  to  announce  her. 

Major  Fitz-David  was  ready  with  his  answer.  The  old 
soldier  was  not  easily  taken  by  surprise. 

"  Age,  my  dear  Mrs.  Macallan,  is  a  purely  relative  expres- 
sion," he  said.  "  There  are  some  people  who  are  never  young, 
and  there  are  other  people  who  are  never  old.  I  am  one  of 
the  other  people.  A.U  revoirf" 

With  that  answer  the  incorrigible  Major  kissed  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  to  us  and  walked  out.  Benjamin,  bowing  with 
his  old-fashioned  courtesy,  threw  open  the  door  of  his  little 
library,  and,  inviting  Mrs.  Macallan  and  myself  to  pass  in, 
left  us  together  in  the  room. 


CHAPTER  -XXIII. 

MY    MOTHER-IN-LAW    SURPRISES    ME. 

I  TOOK  a  chair  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  sofa  on 
which  Mrs.  Macallan  seated  herself.  The  old  lady  smiled, 
and  beckoned  to  me  to  take  my  place  by  her  side.  Judging 
by  appearances,  she  had  certainly  not  come  to  see  me  in  the 
character  of  an  enemy.  It  remained  to  be  discovered  wheth- 
er she  were  really  disposed  to  be  my  friend. 

"I  have  received  a  letter  from  your  uncle  the  vicar,"  she  be- 
gan. "  He  asks  me  to  visit  you,  and  I  am  happy — for  reasons 
which  you  shall  presently  hear — to  comply  with  his  request. 
Under  other  circumstances  I  doubt  very  much,  my  dear  child 
— strange  as  the  confession  may  appear — whether  I  should 
have  ventured  into  your  presence.  My  son  has  behaved  to 
you  so  weakly,  and  (in  my  opinion)  so  inexcusably,  that  I 


THE    LAW    AM)    THK    LADY.  173 

am  really,  speaking  as  his  mother,  almost  ashamed  to  face 
you." 

Was  she  in  earnest  ?  I  listened  to  her  and  looked  at  her 
in  amazement. 

"  Your  uncle's  letter,"  pursued  Mrs.  Macallan,  "  tells  me 
how  you  have  behaved  under  your  hard  trial,  and  what  you 
propose  to  do  now  Eustace  has  left  you.  Doctor  Starkweath- 
er, poor  man,  seems  to  be  inexpressibly  shocked  by  what  you 
said  to  him  when  he  was  in  London.  He  begs  me  to  use  my 
influence  to  induce  you  to  abandon  your  present  ideas,  and 
to  make  you  return  to  your  old  home  at  the  Vicarage.  I 
don't  in  the  least  agree  with  your  uncle,  my  dear.  Wild  as 
I  believe  your  plans  to  be — you  have  not  the  slightest  chance 
of  succeeding  in  carrying  them  out — I  admire  your  courage, 
your  fidelity,  your  unshaken  faith  in  my  unhappy  son,  after 
his  unpardonable  behavior  to  you.  You  are  a  fine  creature, 
Valeria,  and  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you  so  in  plain  words. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  child.  You  deserve  to  be  the  wife  of  a  hero, 
and  you  have  married  one  of  the  weakest  of  living  mortals. 
God  forgive  me  for  speaking  so  of  my  own  son ;  but  it's  in 
my  mind,  and  it  must  come  out !" 

This  way  of  speaking  of  Eustace,  was  more  than  I  could 
suffer,  even  from  his  mother.  I  recovered  the  use  of  my 
tongue  in  my  husband's  defense. 

"  I  am  sincerely  proud  of  your  good  opinion,  dear  Mrs. 
Macallan,"  I  said.  "But  you  distress  me — forgive  me  if  I 
own  it  plainly — when  I  hear  you  speak  so  disparagingly  of 
Eustace.  I  can  not  agree  with  you  that  my  husband  is  the 
weakest  of  living  mortals." 

"  Of  course  not !"  retorted  the  old  lady.  "  You  are  like 
all  good  women  —  you  make  a  hero  of  the  man  you  love, 
whether  he  deserve  it  or  not.  Your  husband  has  hosts  of 
good  qualities,  child — and  perhaps  I  know  them  better  than 
you  do.  But  his  whole  conduct,  from  the  moment  when  he 
first  entered  your  uncle's  house  to  the  present  time, has  been, 
I  say  again,  the  conduct  of  an  essentially  weak  man.  What 
do  you  think  he  has  done  now  by  way  of  climax  ?  He  has 
joined  a  charitable  brotherhood;  and  he  is  off  to  the  war  in 
Spain  with  a  red  cross  on  his  arm,  when  he  ought  to  be  here 
on  his  knees,  asking  his  wife  to  forgive  him.  I  say  that  is 
the  conduct  of  a  weak  man.  Some  people  might  call  it  by  a 
harder  name." 


174  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

This  news  startled  and  distressed  me.  I  might  be  resigned 
to  his  leaving  me  for  a  time  ;  but  all  my  instincts  as  a  wom- 
an revolted  at  his  placing  himself  in  a  position  of  danger  dur- 
ing his  separation  from  his  wife.  He  had  now  deliberately 
added  to  my  anxieties.  I  thought  it  cruel  of  him  —  but  I 
would  not  confess  what  I  thought  to  his  mother.  I  affected 
to  be  as  cool  as  she  was  ;  and  I  disputed  her  conclusions 
with  all  the  firmness  that  I  could  summon  to  help  me.  The 
terrible  old  woman  only  went  on  abusing  him  more  vehe- 
mently than  ever. 

"What. I  complain  of  in  my  son,"  proceeded  Mrs. Macal- 
lan, "is  that  he  has  entirely  failed  to  understand  you.  If  he 
had  married  a  fool,  his  conduct  would  be  intelligible  enough. 
He  would  have  done  wisely  to  conceal  from  a  fool  that  he 
had  been  married  already,  and  that  he  had  suffered  the  hor- 
rid public  exposure  of  a  Trial  for  the  murder  of  his  wife. 
Then,  again,  he  would  have  been  quite  right,  when  this  same 
fool  had  discovered  the  truth,  to  take  himself  out  of  her  way 
before  she  could  suspect  him  of  poisoning  her — for  the  sake 
of  the  peace  and  quiet  of  both  parties.  But  you  are  not  a 
fool.  I  can  see  that,  after  only  a  short  experience  of  you. 
Why  can't  he  see  it  too?  Why  didn't  he  trust  you  with  his 
secret  from  the  first,  instead  of  stealing  his  way  into  your 
affections  under  an  assumed  name?  Why  did  he  plan  (as 
he  confessed  to  me)  to  take  you  away  to  the  Mediterranean, 
and  to  keep  you  abroad,  for  fear  of  some  officious  friends  at 
home  betraying  him  to  you  as  the  prisoner  of  the  famous 
Trial  ?  What  is  the  plain  answer  to  all  these  questions  ? 
What  is  the  one  possible  explanation  of  this  otherwise  un- 
accountable conduct?'  There  is  only  one  answer,  and  one 
explanation.  My  poor,  wretched  son  —  he  takes  after  his 
father;  he  isn't  the  least  like  me!  —  is  weak:  weak  in  his 
way  of  judging,  weak  in  his  way  of  acting,  and,  like  all  weak 
people,  headstrong  and  unreasonable  to  the  la'st  degree. 
There  is  the  truth !  Don't  get  red  and  angry.  I  am  as  fond 
of  him  as  you  are.  I  can  see  his  merits  too.  And  one  of 
them  is  that  he  has  married  a  woman  of  spirit  and  resolu- 
tion— so  faithful  and  so  fond  of  him  that  she  won't  even  let 
his  own  mother  tell  her  of  his  faults.  Good  child !  I  like 
you  for  hating  me  !" 

"  Dear  madam,  don't  say  that  I  hate  you  !"  I  exclaimed 
(feeling  very  much  as  if  I  did  hate  her,  though,  for  all  that). 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    I.ADY.  175 

"  I  only  presume  to  think  that  you  are  confusing  a  delicate- 
rainded  man  with  a  weak-minded  man.  Our  dear  unhappy 
Kustace — " 

"  Is  a  delicate-minded  man,"  said  the  impenetrable  Mrs. 
Macallan,  finishing  my  sentence  for  me.  "  We  will  leave  it 
there,  my  dear,  and  get  on  to  another  subject.  I  wonder 
whether  we  shall  disagree  about  that  too  ?" 

"  What  is  the  subject,  madam  ?" 

"  I  won't  tell  you  if  you  call  me  madam.  Call  me  mother. 
Say, '  What  is  the  subject,  mother  ?" 

"  What  is  the  subject,  mother  ?" 

"  Your  notion  of  turning  yourself  into  a  Court  of  Appeal 
for  a  new  Trial  of  Eustace,  and  forcing  the  world  to  pro- 
nounce a  just  verdict  on  him.  Do  you  really  mean  to  try 
it?" 

"  I  do  !" 

Mrs.  Macallan  considered  for  a  moment  grimly  with  her- 
self. 

"You  know  how  heartily  I  admire  your  courage,  and  your 
devotion  to  my  unfortunate  son,"  she  said.  "  You  know  by 
this  time  that  /"don't  cant.  But  I  can  not  see  you  attempt 
to  perform  impossibilities;  I  can  not  let  you  uselessly  risk 
your  reputation  and  your  happiness  without  warning  you 
before  it  is  too  late.  My  child,  the  thing  you  have  got  it  in 
your  head  to  do  is  not  to  be  done  by  you  or  by  any  body. 
Give  it  up." 

"  I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Macallan — " 

"  '  Mother  !' " 

"  I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you,  mother,  for  the  interest  that 
you  take  in  me,  but  I  can  not  give  it  up.  Right  or  wrong, 
risk  or  no  risk,  I  must  and  I  will  try  it !" 

Mrs.  Macallan  looked  at  me  very  attentively,  and  Sighed 
to  herself. 

"  Oh,  youth,  youth  !"  she  said  to  herself,  sadly.  "What 
a  grand  thing  it  is  to  be  young  !"  She  controlled  the  rising 
regret,  and  turned  on  me  suddenly,  almost  fiercely,  with 
these  Avords  :  "  What,  in  God's  name,  do  you  mean  to  do  ?" 

At  the  instant  when  she  put  the  question,  the  idea  crossed 
my  mind  that  Mrs.  Macallan  could  introduce  me,  if  she 
pleased,  to  Miserrimus  Dexter.  She  must  know  him,  and 
know  him  well,  as  a  guest  at  Gleninch  and  an  old  friend  of 
her  son. 


176  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  I  mean  to  consult  Miserrimus  Dexter,"  I  answered, 
boldly. 

Mrs.  Macallan  started  back  from  me  with  a  loud  exclama- 
tion of  surprise. 

"Are  you  out  of  your  senses?"  she  asked. 

I  told  her,  as  I  had  told  Major  Fitz-David,  that  I  had 
reason  to  think  Mr.  Dexter's  advice  might  be  of  real  assist- 
ance to  me  at  starting. 

"And  I,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Macallan,  "  have  reason  to  think 
that  your  whole  project  is  a  mad  one,  and  that  in  asking 
Dexter's  advice  on  it  you  appropriately  consult  a  madman. 
You  needn't  start,  child  !  There  is  no  harm  in  the  creature. 
I  don't  mean  that  he  will  attack  you,  or  be  rude  to  you.  I 
only  say  that  the  last  person  whom  a  young  woman,  placed 
in  your  painful  and  delicate  position,  ought  to  associate  her- 
self with  is  Miserrimus  Dexter." 

Strange  !  Here  was  the  Major's  warning  repeated  by  Mrs. 
Macallan, almost  in  the  Major's  own  words.  Well!  It  shared 
the  fate  of  most  warnings.  It  only  made  me  more  and  more 
eager  to  have  my  own  way. 

"  You  surprise  me  very  much,"  I  said.  "Mr.  Dexter's  evi- 
dence, given  at  the  Trial,  seems  as  clear  and  reasonable  as 
evidence  can  be." 

"  Of  course  it  is  !"  answered  Mrs.  Macallan.  "  The  short- 
hand writers  and  reporters  put  his  evidence  into  presentable 
language  before  they  printed  it.  If  you  had  heard  what  he 
really  said,  as  I  did,  you  would  have  been  either  very  much 
disgusted  with  him  or  very  much  amused  by  him,  according 
to  your  way  of  looking  at  things.  He  began,  fairly  enough, 
with  a  modest  explanation  of  his  absurd  Christian  name, 
which  at  once  checked  the  merriment  of  the  audience.  But 
as  he  went  on  the  mad  side  of  him  showed  itself.  He  mixed 
up  sense  and  nonsense  in  the  strangest  confusion  ;  he  was 
called  to  order  over  and  over  again ;  he  was  even  threatened 
with  fine  and  imprisonment  for  contempt  of  Court,  In  short, 
he  was  just  like  himself — a  mixture  of  the  strangest  and  the 
most  opposite  qualities ;  at  one  time  perfectly  clear  and 
reasonable,  as  you  said  just  now  ;  at  another  breaking  out 
into  rhapsodies  of  the  most  outrageous  kind,  like  a  man  in  a 
state  of  delirium.  A  more  entirely  unfit  person  to  advise 
any  body,  I  tell  you  again,  never  lived.  You  don't  expect 
Me  to  introduce  you  to  him,  I  hope  ?" 


TlIK    I..UV    AM>    TlIK    I.ADV.  177 

« 

"I  did  think  of  such  a  thins:,"  I  answered.  "But  after 
what  you  have  said,  dear  Mrs.  Macallan,  I  give  up  the  idea 
of  course.  It  is  uot  a  great  sacrifice — it  only  obliges  me  to 
wait  a  week  for  Major  Fitz-David's  dinner-party.  He  has 
promised  to  ask  Miserrimus  Dexter  to  meet  me." 

"  There  is  the  Major  all  over  !"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  If 
you  pin  your  faith  on  that  man,  I  pity  you.  He  is  as  slip- 
pery as  an  eel.  I  suppose  you  asked  him  to  introduce  you 
to  Dexter  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Exactly  !  Dexter  despises  him,  my  dear.  He  knows  as 
well  as  I  do  that  Dexter  won't  go  to  his  dinner.  And  he 
takes  that  roundabout  way  of  keeping  you  apart,  instead 
of  saying  No  to  you  plainly,  like  an  honest  man." 

This  was  bad  news.  But  I  was,  as  usual,  too  obstinate  to 
own  myself  defeated. 

"  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,"  I  said, "  I  can  but  write 
to  Mr.  Dexter,  and  beg  him  to  grant  me  an  interview." 

"  And  go  to  him  by  yourself,  if  he  does  grant  it  ?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Macallan. 

"  Certainly.     By  myself." 

"  You  really  mean  it  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"  I  won't  allow  you  to  go  by  yourself." 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask,  ma'am,  how  you  propose  to  pre- 
vent me?" 

"  By  going  with  you,  to  be  sure,  you  obstinate  hussy  ! 
Yes,  yes — I  can  be  as  headstrong  as  you  are  when  I  like. 
Mind  !  I  don't  want  to  know  what  your  plans  are.  I  don't 
want  to  be  mixed  up  with  your  plans.  My  son  is  resigned 
to  the  Scotch  Verdict.  I  am  resigned  to  the  Scotch  Verdict. 
It  is  you  who  won't  let  matters  rest  as  they  are.  You  are  a 
vain  and  foolhardy  young  person.  But,  somehow,  I  have 
taken  a  liking  to  you,  and  I  won't  let  you  go  to  Miserrimus 
Dexter  by  yourself.  Put  on  your  bonnet !" 

"  Now  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Certainly  !  My  carriage  is  at  the  door.  And  the  soon- 
er it's  over  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  Get  ready  — and 
be  quick  about  it !" 

I  required  no  second  bidding.  In  ten  minutes  more  we 
were  on  our  way  to  Miserrimus  Dexter. 

Such  was  the  result  of  my  mother-in-law's  visit ! 


178  THE  LAW  ASD  THE  LADY. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MISERRIMUS    DEXTEE FIRST   VIEW. 

WE  had  dawdled  over  our  luncheon  before  Mrs.  Macallan 
arrived  at  Benjamin's  cottage.  The  ensuing  conversation 
between  the  old  lady  and  myself  (of  which  I  have  only  pre- 
sented a  brief  abstract)  lasted  until  quite  late  in  the  after- 
noon. The  sun  was  setting  in  heavy  clouds  when  we  got 
into  the  carriage,  and  the  autumn  twilight  began  to  •fall 
around  us  while  we  were  still  on  the  road. 

The  direction  in  which  we  drove  took  us  (as  well  as  I 
could  judge)  toward  the  great  northern  suburb  of  London. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  carriage  threaded  its  way 
through  a  dingy  brick  labyrinth  of  streets,  growing  smaller 
and  smaller  and  dirtier  and  dirtier  the  farther  we  went. 
Emerging  from  the  labyrinth,  I  noticed  in  the  gathering 
darkness  dreary  patches  of  waste  ground  which  seemed  to 
be  neither  town  nor  country.  Crossing  these,  we  passed 
some  forlorn  outlying  groups  of  houses  with  dim  little  scat- 
tered shops  among  them,  looking  like  lost  country  villages 
wandering  on  the  way  to  London,  disfigured  and  smoke-dried 
already  by  their  journey.  Darker  and  darker  and  drearier 
and  drearier  the  prospect  grew,  until  the  carriage  stopped 
at  last,  and  Mrs.  Macallan  announced,  in  her  sharply  satirical 
way,  that  we  had  reached  the  end  of  our  journey.  "  Prince 
Dexter's  Palace,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

I  looked  around  me,  not  knowing  what  to  think  of  it,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told. 

We  had  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  we  were  standing  on 
a  rough  half-made  gravel-path.  Right  and  left  of  me,  in  the 
dim  light,  I  saw  the  half-completed  foundations  of  new  houses 
in  their  first  stage  of  existence.  Boards  and  bricks  were 
scattered  about  us.  At  places  gaunt  scaffolding  poles  rose 
like  the  branchless  trees  of  the  brick  desert.  Behind  us,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  high-road,  stretched  another  plot  of 
waste  ground,  as  yet  not  built  on.  Over  the  surface  of  this 
second  desert  the  ghostly  white  figures  of  vagrant  ducks 


THE    LAW    AND    TIIE    LADY.  170 

gleamed  at  intervals  in  the  mystic  light.  In  front  of  us,  at 
a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards  or  so,  as  well  as  I  could 
calculate,  rose  a  black  mass,  which  gradually  resolved  itself, 
as  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  twilight,  into  a  lonjj, 
lo\v,  and  ancient  house,  with  a  hedge  of  evergreens  and  a 
pitch-black  paling  in  front  of  it.  The  footman  led  the  way 
toward  the  paling  through  the  boards  and  the  bricks,  the 
oyster  shells  and  the  broken  crockery,  that  strewed  the 
ground.  And  this  was  "  Prince  Dexter's  Palace  !" 

There  was  a  gate  in  the  pitch-black  paling,  and  a  bell- 
handle —  discovered  with  great  difficulty.  Pulling  at  the 
handle,  the  footman  set  in  motion,  to  judge  by  the  sound 
produced,  a  bell  of  prodigious  size,  fitter  for  a  church  than  a 
house. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  admission,  Mrs.  Macallan 
pointed  to  the  low,  dark  line  of  the  old  building. 

"  There  is  one  of  his  madnesses,"  she  said.  "  The  specu- 
lators in  this  new  neighborhood  have  offered  him  I  don't 
know  how  many  thousand  pounds  for  the  ground  that  house 
stands  on.  It  was  originally  the  manor-house  of  the  district. 
Dexter  purchased  it  many  years  aince  in  one  of  his  freaks  of 
fancy.  He  has  no  old  family  associations  with  the  place  ; 
the  walls  are  all  but  tumbling  about  his  ears  ;  and  the  money 
offered  would  really  be  of  use  to  him.  But  no  !  He  refused 
the  proposal  of  the  enterprising  speculators  by  letter  in  these 
words:  '  My  house  is  a  standing  monument  of  the  picturesque 
and  beautiful,  amid  the  mean,  dishonest,  •  and  groveling 
constructions  of  a  mean,  dishonest,  and  groveling  age.  I 
keep  my  house,  gentlemen,  as  a  useful  lesson  to  you.  Look 
at  it  while  you  are  building  around  me,  and  blush,  if  you 
can,  for  your  work.'  Was  there  over  such  an  absurd  letter 
written  yet?  Hush  !  I  hear  footsteps  in  the  garden.  IK- re 
comes  his  cousin.  His  cousin  is  a  woman.  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that,  or  you  might  mistake  her  for  a  man  in  the 
dark." 

A  rough,  deep  voice,  which  I  should  certainly  never  have 
supposed  to  be  the  voice  of  a  woman,  hailed  us  from  the  in- 
ner side  of  the  paling. 

"  Who's  there  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Macallan,"  answered  my  mother-in-law. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

"  We  want  to  see  Dexter." 


180    *2~      THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  You  can't  see  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  What  did  you  say  your  name  was  ?" 

"Macallan.  Mrs.  Macallan.  Eustace  Macallan's  mother. 
Now  do  you  understand  ?" 

The  voice  muttered  and  grunted  behind  the  paling,  and  a 
key  turned  in  the  lock  of  the  gate. 

Admitted  to  the  garden,  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  shrubs, 
I  could  see  nothing  distinctly  of  the  woman  with  the  rough 
voice,  except  that  she  wore  a  man's  hat.  Closing  the  gate 
behind  us,  without  a  word  of  welcome  or  explanation,  she 
led  the  way  to  the  house.  Mrs.  Macallan  followed  her  easily, 
knowing  the  place ;  and  I  walked  in  Mrs.  Macallan's  foot- 
steps as  closely  as  I  could.  "  This  is  a  nice  family,"  my 
mother-in-law  whispered  to  me.  "Dexter's  cousin  is  the  only 
woman  in  the  house — and  Dexter's  cousin  is  an  idiot." 

We  entered  a  spacious  hall  with  a  low  ceiling,  dimly  light- 
ed at  its  farther  end  by  one  small  oil-lamp.  I  could  see  that 
there  were  pictures  on  the  grim, brown  walls, but  the  subjects 
represented  were  invisible  in  the  obscure  and  shadowy  light. 

Mrs.  Macallan  addressed. herself  to  the  speechless  cousin 
with  the  man's  hat. 

"Now  tell  me,"  she  said.     "Why  can't  we  see  Dexter?" 
[The  cousin  took  a  sheet  of  paper  off  the  table,  and  handed 
it  to  Mrs.  Macallan. 

"The  Master's  writing,"  said  this  strange  creature,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  as  if  the  bare  idea  of  "  the  Master  "  terrified 
her.  "  Read  it.  And  stay  or  go,  which  you  please." 

She  opened  an  invisible  side  door  in  the  wall,  masked  by 
one  of  the  pictures — disappeared  through  it  like  a  ghost — 
and  left  us  together  alone  in  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Macallan  approached  the  oil-lamp,  and  looked  by  its 
light  at  the  sheet  of  paper  which  the  woman  had  given  to  her. 
I  followed  and  peeped  over  her  shoulder  without  ceremony. 
The  paper  exhibited  written  characters,  traced  in  a  wonder- 
fully large  and  firm  handwriting.  Had  I  caught  the  infec- 
tion of  madness  in  the  air  of  the  house  ?  Or  did  I  really  see 
before  me  these  words  ? 

"NOTICE. — My  immense  imagination  is  at  work.  Visions 
of  heroes  unroll  themselves  before  me.  I  reanimate  in  my- 
self the  spirits  of  the  departed  great.  My  brains  are  boiling 


MILS.    MACALLAN     AI'PROACIIKU    THE    OIL-LAMP,    AM-     LOOKUP     I!V     W8     I  I. .Hi 
THE   SHEET   OF    PAPEK   WHICH   THE   WOMAN    HAD   GIVEN    TO   HElt." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  181 

in  my  head.    Any  persons  who  disturb  me,  under  existing  cir- 
fiimstances,  will  do  it  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. — DEXTER."  _ 

Mrs.  Macallan  looked  around  at  me  quietly  with  her  sar- 
donic smile. 

"Do  you  still  persist  in  wanting  to  be  introduced  to  him?" 
she  asked. 

The  mockery  in  the  tone  of  the  question  roused  my  pride. 
I  determined  that  I  would  not  be  the  first  to  give  way. 

"  Not  if  I  am  putting  you  in  peril  of  your  life,  ma'am,"  I 
answered,  pertly  enough,  pointing  to  the  paper  in  her  hand. 

My  mother-in-law  returned  to  the  hall  table,  and  put  the 
paper  back  on  it  without  condescending  to  reply.  She  then 
led  the  way  to  an  arched  recess  on  our  right  hand,  beyond 
which  I  dimly  discerned  a  broad  flight  of  oaken  stairs. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  Mrs.  Macallan,  mounting  the  stairs  in 
the  dark.  "  I  know  where  to  find  him." 

We  groped  our  way  up  the  stairs  to  the  first  landing. 
The  next  flight  of  steps,  turning  in  the  reverse  direction,  was 
faintly  illuminated,  like  the  hall  below,  by  one  oil -lamp, 
placed  in  some  invisible  position  above  us.  Ascending  the 
second  flight  of  stairs  and  crossing  a  short  corridor,  we  dis- 
covered the  lamp,  through  the  open  door  of  a  quaintly  shaped 
circular  room,  burning  on  the  mantel-piece.,  Its  light  illu- 
minated a  strip  of  thick  tapestry,  hanging  loose  from  the 
ceiling  to  the  floor,  on  the  wall  opposite  to  the  door  by 
which  we  had  entered. 

Mrs.  Macallan  drew  aside  the  strip  of  tapestry,  and,  sign- 
ing me  to  follow  her,  passed  behind  it. 

"  Listen  !"  she  whispered. 

Standing  on  the  inner  side  of  the  tapestry,  I  found  myself 
in  a  dark  recess  or  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  a  ray  of  light 
from  the  lamp  showed  me  a  closed  door.  I  listened,  and 
heard  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  a  shouting  voice,  accom- 
panied by  an  extraordinary  rumbling  and  whistling  sound, 
traveling  backward  and  forward,  as  well  as  I  could  judge, 
over  a  great  space.  Now  the  rumbling  and  the  whistling 
would  reach  their  climax  of  loudness,  and  would  oveix-ome 
the  resonant  notes  of  the  shouting  voice.  Then  again  those 
louder  sounds  gradually  retreated  into  distance,  and  the 
shouting  voice  made  itself  heard  as  the  more  audible  sound 
of  the  two.  The  door  must  have  been  of  prodigious  solidity. 


182  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Listen  as  intently  as  I  might,  I  failed  to  catch  the  articulate 
words  (if  any)  which  the  voice  was  pronouncing,  and  I  was 
equally  at  a  loss  to  penetrate  the  cause  which  produced  the 
rumbling  and  whistling  sounds. 

"What  can  possibly  be  going  on,"  I  whispered  to  Mrs. 
Macallan,  "  on  the  other  side  of  that  door  ?" 

"Step  softly,"  my  mother-in-law  answered,  "  and  come 
and  see." 

She  arranged  the  tapestry  behind  us  so  as  completely  to 
shut  out  the  light  in  the  circular  room.  Then  noiselessly 
turning  the  handle,  she  opened  the  heavy  door. 

We  kept  ourselves  concealed  in  the  shadow  of  the  recess, 
and  looked  through  the  open  doorway. 

I  saw  (or  fancied  I  saw,  in  the  obscurity)  a  long  room  with 
a  low  ceiling.  The  dying  gleam  of  an  ill-kept  fire  formed 
the  only  light  by  which  I  could  judge  of  objects  and  dis- 
tances. Redly  illuminating  the  central  portion  of  the  room, 
opposite  to  which  we  were  standing,  the  fire-light  left  the 
extremities  shadowed  in 'almost  total  darkness.  I  had  bare- 
ly time  to  notice  this  before  I  heard  the  rumbling  and  whis- 
tling sounds  approaching  me.  A  high  chair  on  wheels  moved 
by,  through  the  field  of  red  light,  carrying  a  shadowy  figure 
with  floating  hair,  and  arms  furiously  raised  and  lowered 
working  the  machinery  that  propelled  the  chair  at  its  ut- 
most rate  of  speed.  "  I  am  Napoleon,  at  the  sunrise  of  Aus- 
terlitz !"  shouted  the  man  in  the  chair  as  he  swept  past  me 
on  his  rumbling  and  whistling  wheels,  in  the  r'ed  glow  of  the 
fire-light.  "I  give  the  word,  and  thrones  rock,  and  kings 
fall,  and  nations  tremble,  and  men  by  tens  of  thousands  fight 
and  bleed  and  die  !"  The  chair  rushed  out  of  sight,  and  the 
shouting  man  in  it  became  another  hero.  "I  am  Nelson!" 
the  ringing  voice  cried  now.  "I  am  leading  the  fleet  at 
Trafalgar.  I  issue  my  commands,  prophetically  conscious  of 
victory  and  death.  I  see  my  own  apotheosis,  my  public  fu- 
neral, my  nation's  tears,  my  burial  in  the  glorious  church. 
The  ages  remember  me,  and  the  poets  sing  my  praise  in  im- 
mortal verse !"  The  strident  wheels  turned  at  the  far  end 
of  the  room  and  came  back.  The  fantastic  and  frightful  ap- 
parition, man  and  machinery  blended  in  one — the  new  Cen- 
taur, half  man,  half  chair — flew  by  me  again  in  the  dying 
light.  "I  am  Shakespeare  !"  cried  the  frantic  creature  now. 
"I  am  writing  Lear,  the  tragedy  of  tragedies.  Ancients 


THK    I.A\V    AM)    TIIK    LADY.  183 

and  moderns,  I  am  the  poet  who  towers  over  them  all. 
Light !  light !  the  lines  flow  out  like  lava  from  the  eruption 
of  my  volcanic  mind.  Light !  light !  for  the  poet  of  all  time 
to  write  the  words  that  live  forever!"  He  ground  and  tore 
his  way  back  toward  the  middle  of  the  room.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  fire-place  a  last  morsel  of  unburned  coal  (or 
wood)  burst  into  momentary  flame,  and  showed  the  open 
doorway.  In  that  moment  he  saw  us!  The  wheel-chair 
stopped  with  a  shock  that  shook  the  crazy  old  floor  of  the 
room,  altered  its  course,  and  flew  at  us  with  the  rush  of  a 
wild  animal.  We  drew  back,  just  in  time  to  escape  it,  against 
the  wall  of  the  recess.  The  chair  passed  on,  and  burst  aside 
the  hanging  tapestry.  The  light  of  the  lamp  in  the  circular 
room  poured  in  through  the  gap.  The  creature  in  the  chair 
checked  his  furious  wheels,  and  looked  back  over  his  shoulder 
with  an  impish  curiosity  horrible  to  see. 

"Have  I  run  over  them?  Have  I  ground  them  to  powder 
for  presuming  to  intrude  on  me?"  he  said  to  himself.  As 
the  expression  of  this  amiable  doubt  passed  his  lips  his  eyes 
lighted  on  us.  His  mind  instantly  veered  back  again  to 
Shakespeare  and  King  Lear.  "  Goneril  and  Regan !"  he 
cried.  "  My  two  unnatural  daughters,  my  she-devil  children 
come  to  mock  at  me  !" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  my  mother-in-law,  as  quietly 
as  if  she  were  addressing  a  perfectly  reasonable  being.  "  I 
am  your  old  friend,  Mrs.  Macallan  ;  and  I  have  brought  Eus- 
tace Macallan's  second  wife  to  see  you." 

The  instant  she  pronounced  those  last  words,  "  Eustace 
Macallan's  second  wife,"  the  man  in  the  chair  sprang  out  of 
it  with  a  shrill  cry  of  horror,  as  if  she  had  shot  him.  For 
one  moment  we  saw  a  head  and  body  in  the  air,  absolutely 
deprived  of  the  lower  limbs.  The  moment  after,  the  terri- 
ble creature  touched  the  floor  as  lightly  as  a  monkey,  on  his 
hands.  The  grotesque  horror  of  the  scene  culminated  in  his 
hopping  away,  on  his  hands,  at  a  prodigious  speed,  until  he 
reached  the  fire-place  in  the  long  room.  There  he  crouched 
over  the  dying  embers,  shuddering. and  shivering,  and  mut- 
tering, "Oh,  pity  me,  pity  me!"  dozens  and  dozens  of  times 
to  himself. 

This  was  the  man  whose  advice  I  had  come  to  ask — whose 
assistance  I  had  confidently  counted  on  in  my  hour  of  need. 


184  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MISERRIMUS    DEXTER — SECOND    VIEW. 

THOROUGHLY  disheartened  and  disgusted,  and  (if  I  must 
honestly  confess  it)  thoroughly  frightened  too,  I  whispered 
to  Mrs.  Macallan,  "  I  was  wrong,  and  you  were  right.  Let 
us  go." 

The  ears  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  must  have  been  as  sensitive 
as  the  ears  of  a  dog.  He  heard  me  say,  "Let  us  go." 

"No!"  he  called  out.  "Bring  Eustace  Macallan's  second 
wife  in  here.  I  am  a  gentleman — I  must  apologize  to  her. 
I  am  a  student  of  human  character — I  wish  to  see  her." 

The  whole  man  appeared  to  have  undergone  a  complete 
transformation.  He  spoke  in  the  gentlest  of  voices,  and  he 
sighed  hysterically  when  he  had  done,  like  a  woman  recov- 
ering from  a  burst  of  tears.  Was  it  reviving  courage  or  re- 
viving curiosity?  When  Mrs.  Macallan  said  to  me,  "The 
fit  is  over  now ;  do  you  still  wish  to  go  away  ?"  I  answered, 
"  No ;  I  am  ready  to  go  in." 

"Have  you  recovered  your  belief  in  him  already?"  asked 
my  mother-in-law,  in  her  mercilessly  satirical  way. 

"I  have  recovered  from  my  terror  of  him,"  I  replied. 

"I  am  sorry  I  terrified  you,"  said  the  soft  voice  at  the 
fire-place.  "Some  people  think  I  am  a  little  mad  at  times. 
You  came,  I  suppose,  at  one  of  the  times — if  some  people  are 
right.  I  admit  that  I  am  a  visionary.  My  imagination  runs 
away  with  me,  and  I  say  and  do  strange  things.  On  those 
occasions,  any  body  who  reminds  me  of  that  horrible  Trial 
throws  me  back  again  into  the  past,  and  causes  me  unutter- 
able nervous  suffering.  I  am  a  very  tender-hearted  man. 
As  the  necessary  consequence  (in  such  a  world  as  this),  I  am 
a  miserable  wretch.  Accept  my  excuses.  Come  in,  both  of 
you.  Come  in  and  pity  me." 

A  child  would  not  have  been  frightened  of  him  now.  A 
child  would  have  gone  in  and  pitied  him. 

The  room  was  getting  darker  and  darker.  We  could  just 
see  the  crouching  figure  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  at  the  expiring 
fire — and  that  was  all. 


THE    I..UV    AND    T1IE    LADY.  185 

"Are  we  to  have  no  light?"  asked  Mrs.  Macallan.  "And 
is  this  lady  to  see  yon,  when  the  light  comes,  out  of  your 
chair?" 

He  lifted  something  bright  and  metallic,  hanging  round 
his  neck,  and  blew  on  it  a  series  of  shrill,  trilling,  bird-like 
notes.  After  an  interval  he  was  answered  by  a  similar  series 
of  notes,  sounding  faintly  in  some  distant  region  of  the  house. 

"Ariel  is  coming,"  he  said.  "Compose  yourself,  Mamma 
Macallan  ;  Ariel  will  make  me  presentable  to  a  lady's  eyes." 

He  hopped  away  on  his  hands  into  the  darkness  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  "  Wait  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Macallan,  "and 
you  will  have  another  surprise — you  will  see  the  '  delicate 
Ariel.'" 

We  heard  heavy  footsteps  in  the  circular  room. 

"  Ariel !"  sighed  Miserrimus  Dexter  out  of  the  darkness, 
in  his  softest  notes. 

To  my  astonishment  the  coarse,  masculine  voice  of  the 
cousin  in  the  man's  hat — the  Caliban's,  rather  than  the  Ari- 
el's voice — answered,  "  Here !" 

"  My  chair,  Ariel !" 

The  person  thus  strangely  misnamed  drew  aside  the  tap- 
estry, so  as  to  let  in  more  light ;  then  entered  the  room,  push- 
ing the  wheeled  chair  before  her.  She  stooped  and  lifted 
Miserrimus  Dexter  from  the  floor,  like  a  child.  Before  she 
could- put  him  into  the  chair,  he  sprang  out  of  her  arms  with 
a  little  gleeful  cry,  and  alighted  on  his  seat,  like  a  bird  alight- 
ing on  its  perch ! 

"  The  lamp,"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter,  "  and  the  looking- 
glass. — Pardon  me,"  he  added,  addressing  us,  "for  turning 
my  back  on  you.  You  mustn't  see  me  until  my  hair  is  set 
to  rights. — Ariel !  the  brush,  the  comb,  and  the  perfumes !" 

Carrying  the  lamp  in  one  hand,  the  looking-glass  in  the 
other,  and  the  brush  (with  the  comb  stuck  in  it)  between 
her  teeth,  Ariel  the  Second,  otherwise  Dexter's  cousin,  pre- 
sented herself  plainly  before  me  for  the  first  time.  I  could 
now  see  the  girl's  round,  fleshy,  inexpressive  face,  her  ray- 
li'ss  and  colorless  eyes,  her  coarse  nose  and  heavy  chin.  A 
creature  half  alive  ;  an  imperfectlv  developed  animal  in  shape- 
less form,  clad  in  a  man's  pilot  jacket,  and  treading  in  a  man's 
heavy  laced  boots,  with  nothing  but  an  old  red-flannel  pet- 
ticoat, and  a  broken  comb  in  her  frowzy  flaxen  hair,  to  tell 
us  that  she  was  a  woman — such  was  the  inhospitable  person 


186  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

who  had  received  us  in  the  darkness  when  we  first  entered 
the  house. 

This  wonderful  valet,  collecting  her  materials  for  dressing 
her  still  more  wonderful  master's  hair,  gave  him  the  looking- 
glass  (a  hand-mirror),  and  addressed  herself  to  her  work. 

She  combed,  she  brushed,  she  oiled,  she  perfumed  the 
flowing  locks  and  the  long  silky  beard  of  Miserrimus  Dexter 
with  the  strangest  mixture  of  dullness  and  dexterity  that  I 
ever  saw.  Done  in  brute  silence,  with  a  lumpish  look  and  a 
clumsy  gait,  the  work  was  perfectly  well  done  nevertheless. 
The  imp  in  the  chair  superintended  the  whole  proceeding 
critically  by  means  of  his  hand-mirror.  He  was  too  deeply 
interested  in  this  occupation  to  speak  .until  some  of  the  con- 
cluding touches  to  his  beard  brought  the  misnamed  Ariel  in 
front  of  him,  and  so  turned  her  full  face  toward  the  part  of 
the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Macallan  and  I  were  standing.  Then 
he  addressed  us,  taking  especial  care,  however,  not  to  turn 
his  head  our  way  while  his  toilet  was  still  incomplete. 

"  Mamma  Macallan,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  Christian  name 
of  your  son's  second  wife?" 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  asked  my  mother-in-law. 

"  I  want  to  know  because  Lcan't  address  her  as  '  Mrs.  Eus- 
tace Macallan.' " 

"Why  not?" 

"It  recalls  the  other  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan.  If  I  am  re- 
minded of  those  horrible  days  at  Gleninch  my  fortitude  will 
give  way — I  shall  burst  out  screaming  again." 

Hearing  this,  I  hastened  to  interpose. 

"My  name  is  Valeria,"  I  said. 

"  A  Roman  name,"  remarked  M^errimus  Dexter.  "  I  like 
it.  My  mind  is  cast  in  the  Roman  mould.  My  bodily  build 
would  have  been  Roman  if  I  had  been  born  with  legs.  I 
shall  call  you  Mrs.  Valeria,  unless  you  disapprove  of  it." 

I  hastened  to  say  that  I  was  far  from  disapproving  of  it. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter.  "  Mrs.  Valeria, 
do  you  see  the  face  of  this  creature  in  front  of  me?" 

He  pointed  with  the  hand-mirror  to  his  cousin  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  he  might  have  pointed  to  a  dog.  His  cousin,  on 
her  side,  took  no  more  notice  than  a  dog  would  have  taken 
of  the  contemptuous  phrase  by  which  he  had  designated  her. 
She  went  on  combing  and  oiling  his  beard  as  composedly  as 


THE  LAW  AND  TUB  LADY.  187 

"It  is  the  face  of  an  idiot,  isn't  it?"  pursued  Miserrimus 
Dexter.  "  Look  at  her  !  She  is  a  mere  vegetable.  A  cab- 
bage in  a  garden  has  as  much  life  and  expression  in  it  as 
that  girl  exhibits  at  the  present  moment.  Would  you  be- 
lieve there  was  latent  intelligence,  affection,  pride,  fidelity, 
in  such  a  half-developed  being  as  this?" 

I  was  really  ashamed  to  answer  him.  Quite  needlessly ! 
The  impenetrable  young  woman  went  on  with  her  master's 
beard.  A  machine  could  not  have  taken  less  notice  of  the 
life  and  the  talk  around  it  than  this  incomprehensible  creat- 
ure. 

"7" have  got  at  that  latent  affection,  pride,  fidelity,  and  the 
rest  of  it,"  resumed  Miserrimus  Dexter,  "/hold  the  key  to 
that  dormant  Intelligence.  Grand  thought!  Now  look  at 
IRT  when  I  speak.  (I  named  her,  poor  wretch,  in  one  of  my 
ironical  moments.  She  has  got  to  like  her  name,  just  as  a 
dog  gets  to  like  his  collar.)  Now,  Mrs.  Valeria,  look  and 
listen. — Ariel !" 

The  girl's  dull  face  began  to  brighten.  The  girl's  mechan- 
ically moving  hand  stopped,  and  held  the  comb  in  suspense. 

"Ariel!  you  have  learned  to  dress  my  hair  and  anoint  my 
beard,  haven't  you  ?" 

Her  face  still  brightened.  "Yes!  yes!  yes!"  she  answered, 
eagerly.  "  And  you  say  I  have  learned  to  do  it  well,  don't 
you  ?" 

"  I  say  that.  Would  you  like  to  let  any  body  else  do  it 
for  you  ?" 

Her  eyes  melted  softly  into  light  and  life.  Her  strange 
unwomanly  voice  sank  to  the  gentlest  tones  that  I  had  heard 
from  her  yet. 

"  Nobody  else  shall  do  it  for  me,"  she  said,  at  once  proud- 
ly and  tenderly.  "  Nobody,  as  long  as  I  live,  shall  touch 
you  but  me." 

"Not  even  the  lady  there?"  asked  Miserrimus  Dexter, 
pointing  backward  with  his  hand -mirror  to  the  place  at 
which  I  was  standing. 

Her  eyes  suddenly  flashed,  her  hand  suddenly  shook  the 
comb  at  me,  in  a  burst  of  jealous  rage. 

"Let  her  try!"  cried  the  poor  creature,  raising  her  voice 
again  to  its  hoarsest  notes.  "  Let  her  touch  you  if  she  dares  !" 

Dexter  laughed  at  the  childish  outbreak.  "That  will  do, 
my  delicate  Ariel,"  he  said.  "  I  dismiss  your  Intelligence 
T 


188  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

for  the  present.  Relapse  into  your  former  self.  Finish  my 
beard." 

She  passively  resumed  her  work.  The  new  light  in  her 
eyes,  the  new  expression  in  her  face,  faded  little  by  little  and 
died  out.  In  another  minute  the  face  was  as  vacant  and  as 
lumpish  as  before  ;  the  hands  did  their  work  again  with  the 
lifeless  dexterity  which  had  so  painfully  impressed  me  when 
she  first  took  up  the  brush.  Miserrimus  Dexter  appeared  to 
be  perfectly  satisfied  with  these  results. 

"I  thought  my  little  experiment  might  interest  you,"  he 
said.  "  You  see  how  it  is?  The  dormant  intelligence  of  my 
curious  cousin  is  like  the  dormant  sound  in  a  musical  instru- 
ment. I  play  upon  it  —  and  it  answers  to  my  touch.  She 
likes  being  played  upon.  But  her  great  delight  is  to  hear 
me  tell  a  story.  I.  puzzle  her  to  the  verge  of  distraction  ; 
and  the  more  I  confuse  her,  the  better  she  likes  the  story. 
It  is  the  greatest  fun  ;  you  really  must  see  it  some  day."  lie 
indulged  himself  in  a  last  look  at  the  mirror.  "  Ha  !"  he  said, 
complacently ;  "  now  I  shall  do.  Vanish,  Ariel !" 

She  tramped  out  of  the  room  in  her  heavy  boots,  with  the 
mute  obedience  of  a  trained  animal.  I  said  "Good-night" 
ns  she  passed  me.  She  neither  returned  the  salutation  nor- 
looked  at  me:  the  words  simply  produced  no  effect  on  her 
dull  senses.  The  one  voice  that  could  reach  her  was  silent. 
She  had  relapsed  once  more  into"  the  vacant  inanimate  creat- 
ure who  had  opened  the  gate  to  us,  until  it  pleased  Miserri- 
mus  Dexter  to  speak  to  her  again. 

"Valeria  !"  said  my  mother-in-law.  "  Our  modest  host  is 
waiting  to  see  what  you  think  of  him." 

While  my  attention  was  fixed  on  his  cousin  he  had  Avheel- 
cd  his  chair  around  so  as  to  face  me,  with  the  light  of  the  lamp 
falling  full  on  him.  In  mentioning  his  appearance  as  a  wit- 
ness at  the  Trial,!  find  I  have  borrowed  (without  meaning  to 
do  so)  from  my  experience  of  him  at  this  later  time.  I  saw 
plainly  now  the  bright  intelligent  face  and  the  large  clear 
blue  eyes,  the  lustrous  waving  hair  of  a  light  chestnut  col- 
or, the  long  delicate  white  hands,  and  the  magnificent  throat 
and  chest  which  I  have  elsewhere  described.  The  deformity 
which  degraded  and  destroyed  the  manly  beauty  of  his  head 
and  breast  was  bidden  from  view  by  an  Oriental  robe  of 
many  colors,  thrown  over  the  chair  like  a  coverlet.  He  was 
clothed  in  a  jacket  of  black  velvet,  fastened  loosely  across 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  189 

his  chest  with  large  malachite  buttons;  and  he  wore  lace 
ruffles  at  the  ends  of  his  sleeves,  in  the  fashion  of  the  last 
century.  It  may  well  have  been  due  to  want  of  perception 
on  inv  part — but  I  could  see  nothing  mad  in  him,  nothing  in 
any  way  repelling,  as  he  now  looked  at  me.  The  one  delect 
that  I  could  discover  in  his  face  was  at  the  outer  corners  of 
his  eyes,  just  under  the  temple.  Here  when  he  laughed,  and 
in  a  lesser  degree  when  he  smiled,  the  skin  contracted  into 
quaint  little  wrinkles  and  folds,  which  looked  strangely  out 
of  harmony  with  the  almost  youthful  appearance  of  the  rest 
of  his  face.  As'to  his  other  features,  the  mouth,  so  far  as  his 
beard  and  mustache  permitted  me  to  see  it,  was  small  and 
delicately  formed  ;  the  nose — perfectly  shaped  on  the  straight 
Grecian  model — was  perhaps  a  little  too  thin,  judged  by  com- 
pariTOn  with  the  full  cheeks  and  the  high  massive  forehead. 
Looking  at  him  as  a  whole  (and  speaking  of  him,  of  course, 
from  a  womanls,  not  a  physiognomist's,  point  of  view),  I  can 
only  describe  him  as  being  an  unusually  handsome  man.  A 
painter  would  have  reveled  in  him  as  a  model  for  St.  John. 
And  a  young  girl,  ignorant  of  what  the  Oriental  robe  hid 
from  view,  would  have  said  .to  heysclf,  the  instant  she  looked 
at  him,  "Here  is  the  hero  of  my  dreams !" 

His  blue  eyes — large  as  the  eyes  of  a  woman,  clear  as  the 
eyes  of  a  chihl — rested  on  me.  the*  moment  I  turned  toward 
him,  with  a  strangely  varying  play  of  expression,  which  at 
once  interested  and  perplexed  me. 

Now  there  was  doubt — uneasy,  painful  doubt — in  the  look ; 
and  now  again  it  changed  brightly  to  approval,  so  open  and 
unrestrained  that  a  vain  woman  might  have  fancied  she  had 
made  a  conquest  of  him  at  first  sight.  Suddenly  a  new  emo- 
tion seemed  to  take  possession  of  him.  His  eyes  sank,  his 
head  drooped  ;  he  lifted  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  regret. 
He  muttered  and  murmured  to  himself;  pursuing  some  secret 
and  melancholy  train  of  thought,  which  seemed  to  lead  him 
farther  and  farther  away  from  present  objects. of  interest,  and 
to  plunge  him  deeper  and  deeper  in  troubled  recollections  of 
the  past.  Here  and  there  I  caught  some  of  the  words.  Lit- 
tle by  little  I  found  myself  trying  to  fathom  what  was  dark- 
ly passing  in  this  strange  man's  mind. 

"A  far  more  charming  face,"  I  heard  him  say.  "But 
no  —  not  a  more  beautiful  figure.  AVhat  figure  was  ever 
more  beautiful  than  hers?  Something — but  not  all — of  her 


190  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

enchanting  grace.  Where  is  the  resemblance  which  has 
brought  her  back  to  me  ?  In  the  pose  of  the  figure,  per- 
haps. In  the  movement  of  the  figure,  perhaps.  Poor  mar- 
tyred angel !  What  a  life  !  And  what  a  death  !  what  a 
death !" 

Was  he  comparing  me  with  the  victim  of  the  poison  — 
with  my  husband's  first  wife  ?  His  words  seemed  to  justify 
the  conclusion.  If  I  were  right,  the  dead  woman  had  evi- 
dently been  a  favorite  with  him.  There  was  no  misinter- 
preting the  broken  tones  of  his  voice  when  he  spoke  of  her : 
he  had  admired  her,  living  ;  he  mourned  her,  dead.  Suppos- 
ing that  I  could  prevail  upon  myself  to  admit  this  extraor- 
dinary person  into  my  confidence,  what  would  be  the  result  ? 
Should  I  be  the  gainer  or  the  loser  by  the  resemblance  which 
he  fancied  he  had  discovered  ?  Would  the  sight  of  me\on- 
sole  him  or  pain  him  ?  I  waited  eagerly  to  hear  more  on  the 
subject  of  the  first  wife.  Not  a  word  more  escaped  his  lips. 
A  new  change  came  over  him.  He  lifted  his  head  with  a 
start,  and  looked  about  him  as  a  weary  man  might  look  if  he 
was  suddenly  disturbed  in  a  deep  sleep. 

"  What  have  I  done?"  he  said.  "  Have  I  been  letting  my 
mind  drift  again?"  He  shuddered  and  sighed.  "Oh, that 
house  of  Gleninch  !"  he  murmured,  sadly,  to  himself.  "  Shall 
I  never  get  away  from.it'in  my  thoughts?  Oh,  that  house 
of  Gleninch !" 

To  my  infinite  disappointment,  Mrs.  Macallan  checked  the 
further  revelation  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind. 

Something  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  his  allusion  to  her 
son's  country-house  seemed  to  have  offended  her.  She  inter- 
posed sharply  and  decisively. 

"  Gently,  my  friend,  gently !"  she  said.  "  I  don't  think  you 
quite  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

His  great  blue  eyes  flashed  at  her  fiercely.  With  one  turn 
of  his  hand  he  brought  his  chair  close  at  her  side.  The  next 
instant  he  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  forced  her  to  bend  to 
him,  until  he  could  whisper  in  her  ear.  He  was  violently 
agitated.  His  whisper  was  loud  enough  to  make  itself  heard 
where  I  was  sitting  at 'the  time. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  talking  about  ?"  he  repeated, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  attentively,  not  on  my  mother-in-law, 
but  on  me.  "You  short-sighted  old  woman!  where  are  your 
spectacles  ?  Look  at  her  !  Do  you  see  no  resemblance  — 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  191 

the  figure,  not  the  face  ! — do  you  see  no  resemblance  there 
to  Eustace's  first  wife  ?" 

"Pure  fancy  !"  rejoined  Mrs.  Macallan.  "  I  see  nothing  of 
the"  sort." 

He  shook  her  impatiently. 

"Not  so  loud  !"  he  whispered.     "She  will  hear  you." 

"  I  have  heard  you  both,"  I  said.  "  You  need  have  no  fear, 
Mr.  Dexter,  of  speaking  before  me.  I  know  that  my  husband 
had  a  first  wife,  and  I  know  how  miserably  she  died.  I  have 
read  the  Trial." 

"  You  have  read  the  life  and  death  of  a  martyr !"  cried 
Miserrimus  Dexter.'  He  suddenly  wheeled  his  chair  my 
way;  he  bent  over  me;  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "No- 
body appreciated  her  at  her  true  value,"  he  said,  "  but  me. 
Xobody  but  me  !  nobody  but  me  !" 

Mrs.  Macallan  walked  away  impatiently  to  the  end  of  the 
room. 

"  When  you  are  ready,  Valeria,  I  am,"  she  said.  "  We  can 
not  keep  the  servants  and  the  horses  waiting  much  longer  in 
this  bleak  place." 

I  was  too  deeply  interested  in  leading  Miserrimus  Dexter 
to  pursue  the  subject  on  which  he  had  touched  to  be  willing 
to  leave  him  at  that  moment.  I  pretended  not  to  have  heard 
Mrs.  Macallan.  I  laid  my  hand,  as  if  by  accident,  on  the 
wheel-chair  to  keep  him  near  me. 

"You  showed  me  how  highly  you  esteemed  that  poor  lady 
in  your  evidence  at  the  Trial,"  I  said.  "  I  believe,  Mr.  Dex- 
ter, you  have  ideas  of  your  own  about  the  mystery  of  her 
death  ?" 

He  had  been  looking  at  my  hand,  resting  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair,  until  I  ventured  on  my  question.  At  that  he  sud- 
denly raised  his  eyes,  and  fixed  them  with  a  frowning  and  fur- 
tive suspicion  on  my  face. 

"How  do  you  know  I  have  ideas  of  my  own?"  he  asked, 
sternly. 

"  I  know  it  from  reading  the  Trial,"  I  answered.  "  The 
lawyer  who  cross-examined  you  spoke  almost  in  the  very 
words  which  I  have  just  used. '  I  had  no  intention  of  offend- 
ing you,  Mr.  Dexter." 

His  face  cleared  as  rapidly  as  it  had  clouded.  He  smiled, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  mine.  His  touch  struck  me  cold.  I 
felt  every  nerve  in  me  shivering  under  it  ;  I  drew  my  hand 
jiway  quickly. 


192  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  "  if  I  have  misunderstood 
you.  I  have  ideas  of  my  own  about  that  unhappy  lady." 
He  paused  and  looked  at  me  in  silence  very  earnestly.  "  Have 
you  any  ideas?"  lie  asked.  "Ideas  about  her  life?  or  about 
her  death  ?" 

I  was  deeply  interested  ;  I  was  burning  to  hear  more.  It 
might  encourage  him  to  speak  if  I  were  candid  with  him.  I 
answered,  "  Yes." 

"  Ideas  which  you  have  mentioned  to  any  one  ?"  he  went 
on. 

"  To  no  living  creature,"  I  replied — "  as  yet." 

"This  is  very  strange  !"  he  said,  still  earnestly  reading  my 
face.  "  What  interest  can  you  have  in  a  dead  woman  whom 
you  never  knew?  Why  did  you  ask  me  that  question  just 
now?  Have  you  any  motive  in  coming  here  to  see  me?" 

I  boldly  acknowledged  the  truth.  I  said,  "I  have  a  motive." 

"  Is  it  connected  with  Eustace  Macallan's  first  wife  ?" 

"It  is." 

"  With  any  thing  that  happened  in  her  lifetime  ?" 
,    "No." 

"  With  her  death  ?" 

"  Yes." 

He  suddenly  clasped  his  hands  with  a  wild  gesture  of  de- 
spair, and  then  pressed  them  both  on  his  head,  as  if  he  were 
struck  by  some  sudden  pain. 

"  I  can't  hear  it  to-night !"  he  said.  "  I  would  give  worlds 
to  hear  it,  but  I  daren't.  I  should  lose  all  hold  over  myself 
in  the  state  I  am  in  now.  I  am  not  equal  to  raking  up  the 
horror  and  the  mystery  of  the  past ;  I  have  not  courage 
enough  to  open  the  grave  of  the  martyred  dead.  Did  you 
hear  me  when  you  came  here  ?  I  have  an  immense  imagina- 
tion. It  runs  riot  at  times.  It  makes  an  actor  of  me.  I  play 
the  parts  of  all  the  heroes  that  ever  lived.  I  feel  their  char- 
acters. I  merge  myself  in  their  individualities.  For  the 
time  I  am  the  man  I  fancy  myself  to  be.  I  can't  help  it.  I 
am  obliged  to  do  it.  If  I  restrained  my  imagination  when 
the  fit  is  on  me,  I  should  go  mad.  I  let  myself  loose.  It 
lasts  for  hours.  It  leaves  me  with  my  energies  worn  out, 
with  my  sensibilities  frightfully  acute.  Rouse  any  melan- 
choly or  terrible  associations  in  me  at  such  times,  and  I  am 
capable  of  hysterics,  I  am  capable  of  screaming.  You  heard 
me  scream.  You  shall  not  see  me  in  hysterics.  No,  Mrs. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  193 

Valeria — no,  you  innocent  reflection  of  the  dead  .iiul  gone — 
I  would  not  frighten  you  for  the  world.  Will  you  come 
here  to-morrow  in  the  daytime  ?  I  have  got  a  chaise  and  a 
l>ony.  Ariel,  my  delicate  Ariel,  can  drive.  She  shaR  call  at 
Mamma  Macallan's  and  fetch  you.  We  will  talk  to-morrow, 
when  I  am  fit  for  it.  I  am  dying  to  hear  you.  I  will  be  fit 
for  you  in  the  morning.  I  will  be  civil,  intelligent,  commu- 
nicative, in  the  morning.  No  more  of  it  now.  Away  with 
the  subject — the  too  exciting,  the  too  interesting  subject !  I 
must  compose  myself,  or  my  brains  will  explode  in  my  head. 
Music  is  the  true  narcotic  for  excitable  brains.  My  harp ! 
my  harp !" 

lie  rushed  away  in  his  chair  to  the  far  end  of  the  room, 
passing  Mrs.  Macallan  as  she  returned  to  me,  bent  on  hasten- 
ing our  departure. 

"Come!"  said  the  old  lady,  irritably.  "You  have  seen 
him,  and  he  has  made  a  good  show  of  himself.  More  of  him 
might  be  tiresome.  Come  away." 

The  chair  returned  to  us  more  slowly.  Miserrimus  Dex- 
ter was  working  it  with  one  hand  only.  In  the  other  he  held 
a  harp  of  a  pattern  which  I  had  hitherto  only  seen  in  pictures. 
The  strings  were  few  in  number,  and  the  instrument  was  so 
small  that  I  could  have  held  it  easily  on  my  lap.  It  was  the 
ancient  harp  of  the  pictured  Muses  and  the  legendary  Welsh 
bards. 

"  Good-night,  Dexter,"  said  Mrs.  Macallan. 

He  held  up  one  hand  imperatively. 

"  Wait !"  he  said.  "Let  her  hear  me  sing."  lie  turned  to 
me.  "I  decline  to  be  indebted  to  other  people  for  my  poetry 
and  my  music,"  he  went  on.  "  I  compose  my  own  poetry  and 
my  own  music.  I  improvise.  Give  me  a  moment  to  think.  I 
will  improvise  for  You." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  rested  his  head  on  the  frame  of  the 
harp.  His  fingers  gently  touched  the  strings  while  he  was 
thinking.  In.  a  few  minutes  he  lifted  his  head,  looked  at  me, 
and  struck  the  first  notes — the  prelude  to  the  song.  It  was 
wild,  barbaric,  monotonous  music,  utterly  unlike  any  modern 
composition.  Sometimes  it  suggested  a  slow  and  undulating 
Oriental  dance.  Sometimes  it  modulated  into  tones  which 
reminded  me  of  the  severer  harmonies  of  the  old  Gregorian 
chants.  The  words,  when  they  followed  the  prelude,  were 
as  wild,  as  recklessly  free  from  all  restraint  of  critical  rules, 


194  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

as  the  music.  They  were  assuredly  inspired  by  the  occasion  ; 
I  was  the  theme  of  the  strange  song.  And  thus — in  one  of 
the  finest  tenor  voices  I  ever  heard — my  poet  sang  of  me: 

"Why  does  she  come? 
She  reminds  me  of  the  lost ; 
She  reminds  me  of  the  dead : 

In  her  form  like  the  other, 

In  her  walk  like  the  other : 
Why  does  she  come  ? 

"  Does  Destiny  bring  her? 

Shall  we  range  together 
The  mazes  of  the  past  ? 

Shall  we  search  together 
The  secrets  of  the  past  ? 

Shall  we  interchange  thoughts,  surmises,  suspicions? 
Does  Destiny  bring  her  ? 

"The  Future  will  show. 
Let  the  night  pass ; 
Let  the  day  come. 
I  shall  see  into  Her  mind : 
She  will  look  into  Mine. 
The  Future  will  show." 

His  voice  sank,  his  fingers  touched  the  strings  more  and 
more  feebly  as  he  approached  the  last  lines.  The  over- 
wrought brain  needed  and  took  its  reanimating  repose.  At 
the  finul  words  his  eyes  slowly  closed.  His  head  lay  back 
on  the  chair.  He  slept  with  his  arms  around  his  harp,  as  a 
child  sleeps  hugging  its  last  new  toy. 

We  stole  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and  left  Miserrimus 
Dexter — poet,  composer,  and  madman — in  his  peaceful  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MOKE    OF   MY   OBSTINACY. 

ARIEL  was  down-stairs  in  the  shadowy  hall,  half  asleep, 
half  awake,  waiting  to  see  the  visitors  clear  of  the  house. 
Without  speaking  to  us,  without  looking  at  us,  she  led  the 
way  down  the  dark  garden  walk,  and  locked  the  gate  be- 
hind us.  "  Good-night,  Ariel,"  I  called  out  to  her  over  the 
paling.  Nothing  answered  me  but  the  tramp  of  her  heavy 


THE    LAW    ANJ>    THE    LADY.  ^^>  I  195 

footsteps  returning  to  the  house,  and  the  dull  thump,  a  mo- 
ment afterward,  of  the  closing  door. 

The  footman  had  thoughtfully  lighted  the  carriage  lamps. 
Carrying  one  of  them  to  serve  as  a  lantern,  he  lighted  us 
over  the  wilds  of  the  brick  desert,  and  lauded  us  safely  on 
the  path  by  the  high-road. 

"Well!"  said  my  mother-in-law,  when  we  were  comfort- 
ably seated  in  the  carriage  again.  "  You  have  seen  Miserri- 
mus  Dexter,  and  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.  I  will  do  him 
the  justice  to  declare  that  I  never,  in  all  my  experience,  saw 
him  more  completely  crazy  than  he  was  to-night.  What  do 
you  say  ?" 

^  "  I  don't  presume  to  dispute  your  opinion,"  I  answered. 
[^'But,  speaking  for  myself,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  he  is 
mad." 

"Xot  mad!"  cried  Mrs.  Macallan,  "  after  those  frantic 
performances  in  his  chair  ?  Xot  mad,  after  the  exhibition 
he  made  of  his  unfortunate  cousin  ?  Xot  mad,  after  the 
song  that  he  sang  in  your  honor,  and  the  falling  asleep  by 
way  of  conclusion  ?  Oh,  Valeria!  Valeria!  Well  said  the 
wisdom  of  our  ancestors — there  are  none  so  blind  as  those 
who  won't  see." 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  Mrs.  Macallan,  I  saw  every  thing  that 
you  mention,  and  I  never  felt  more  surprised  or  more  con- 
founded in  my  life.  But,  now  I  have  recovered  from  my 
amazement,  and  can  think  it  over  quietly,  I  must  still  vent- 
ure to  doubt  whether  this  strange  man  is  really  mad  in  the 
true  meaning  of  the  word.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  only 
expresses— ji  admit  in  a  very  reckless  and  boisterous  way — 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  most  of  us  are  ashamed  of  as 
weaknesses,  and  which  we  keep  to  ourselves  accordingly.]^]  I 
confess  I  have  often  fancied  myself  transformed  into  some 
other  person,  and  have  felt  a  certain  pleasure  in  seeing  my- 
self in  my  new  character.  One  of  our  first  amusements  as 
children  (if  we  have  any  imagination  at  all)  is  to  get  out  of 
our  own  characters,  and  to  try  the  characters  of  other  per- 
sonages as  a  change — to  be  fairies,  to  be  queens,  to  be  any 
thing,  in  short,  but  what  we  really  are.  Mr.  Dexter  lets  out 
the  secret  just  as  the  children  do,  and  if  that  is  madness,  lie 
is  certainly  mad.  But  I  noticed  that  when  his  imagination 
cooled  down  he  became  Miserrimus  Dexter  again  —  he  no 
more  believed  himself  than  we  believed  him  to  be  Xapoleon 
12 


196  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

or  Shakespeare.  Besides, some  allowance  is  surely  to  be  made 
for  the  solitary,  sedentary  life  that  he  leads.  I  am  not 
learned  enough  to  trace  the  influence  of  that  life  in  making 
him  what  he  is ;  but  I  think  I  can  see  the  result  in  an  over- 
excited imagination,  and  I  fancy  I  can  trace  his  exhibiting 
his  power  over  the  poor  cousin  and  his  singing  of  that  won- 
derful song  to  no  more  formidable  cause  than  inordinate  self- 
conceit.  I  hope  the  confession  will  not  lower  me  seriously 
in  your  good  opinion  ;  but  I  must  say  I  have  enjoyed  my 
visit,  and,  worse  still,  Miserrimus  Dexter  really  interests 
me."  ^ 

"Does  this  learned  discourse  on  Dexter  mean  that  you 
are  going  to  see  him  again  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Macallan. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  may  feel  about  it  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," I  said, "  but  my  impulse  at  this  moment  is  decidedly  to 
see  him  again.  I  had  a  little  talk  with  him  while  you  were 
away  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  I  believe  he  realiy 
can  be  of  use  to  me — " 

"  Of  use  to  you  in  what  ?"  interposed  my  mother-in-law. 

"  In  the  one  object  which  I  have  in  view — the  object,  dear 
Mrs.  Macallan,  which  I  regret  to  say  you  do  not  approve." 

"And  you  are  going  to  take  him  into  your  confidence? 
to  open  your  whole  mind  to  such  a  man  as  the  man  we  have 
just  left?" 

"Yes,  if  I  think  of  it  to-morrow  as  I  think  of  it  to-night. 
I  dare  say  it  is  a  risk ;  but  I  must  run  risks.  I  know  I  am 
not  prudent ;  but  prudence  won't  help  a  woman  in  my  posi- 
tion, with  my  end  to  gain." 

Mrs.  Macallan  made  no  further  remonstrance  in  words. 
She  opened  a  capacious  pocket  in  front  of  the  carriage, 
and  took  from  it  a  box  of  matches  and  a  railway  reading- 
lamp. 

"You  provoke  me,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  into  showing  you 
what  your  husband  thinks  of  this  new  whirn  of  yours.  I 
have  got  his  letter  with  me — his  last  letter  from  Spain.  You 
shall  judge  for  yourself,  you  poor  deluded  young  creature, 
whether  my  son  is  worthy  of  the  sacrifice — the  useless  and 
hopeless  sacrifice — which  you  are  bent  on  making  of  yourself 
for  his  sake.  Strike  a  light !" 

I  willingly  obeyed  her.  Ever  since  she  had  informed  me 
of  Eustace's  departure  to  Spain  I  had  been  eager  for  more 
news  of  him,  for  something  to  sustain  my  spirits,  after  so 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  197 

much  that  had  disappointed  and  depressed  me.  Thus  far  I 
did  not  even  know  whether  my  husband  thought  of  me 
sometimes  in  his  self-imposed  exile.  As  to  his  regretting 
already  the  rash  act  which  had  separated  us,  it  was  still  too 
soon  to  begin  hoping  for  that. 

The  lamp  having  been  lighted,  and  fixed  in  its  place  be- 
tween the  two  front  windows  of  the  carriage,  Mrs.  Macallan 
produced  her  son's  letter.  There  is  no  folly  like  the  folly 
of  love.  It  cost  me  a  hard  struggle  to  restrain  myself  from 
kissing  the  paper  on  which  the  dear  hand  had  rested. 

"  There  !"  said  my  mother-in-law.  "  Begin  on  the  second 
page,  the  page  devoted  to  you.  Read  straight  down  to  the 
last  line  at  the  bottom,  and,  in  God's  name,  come  back  to 
your  senses,  child,  before  it  is  too  late  !" 

I  followed  my  instructions,  and  read  these  words  : 

"  Can  I  trust  myself  to  write  of  Valeria  ?  I  must  write 
of  her.  Tell  me  how  she  is,  how  she  looks,  what  she  is  do- 
ing. I  am  always  thinking  of  her.  Xot  a  day  passes  but  I 
mourn  the  loss  of  her.  Oh,  if  she  had  only  been  contented 
to  let  matters  rest  as  they  were  !  Oh,  if  she  had  never  dis- 
covered the  miserable  truth  ! 

"  She  spoke  of  reading  the  Trial  when  I  saw  her  last.  Has 
she  persisted  in  doing  so  ?  I  believe — I  say  this  seriously, 
mother — I  believe  the  shame  and  the  horror  of  it  would 
have  been  the  death  of  me  if  I  had  met  her  face  to  face  when 
she  first  knew  of  the  ignominy  that  I  have  suffered,  of  the 
infamous  suspicion  of  which  I  have  been  publicly  made  the 
subject.  Think  of  those  pure  eyes  looking  at  a  man  who 
lias  been  accused  (and  never  wholly  absolved)  of  the  foulest 
and  the  vilest  of  all  murders,  and  then  think  of  what  that 
man  must  feel  if  he  have  any  heart  and  any  sense  of  shame 
left  in  him.  I  sicken  as  I  write  of  it. 

"Does  she  still  meditate  that  hopeless  project — the  off- 
spring, poor  angel,  of  her  artless,  unthinking  generosity  ? 
Does  she  still  fancy  that  it  is  in  her  power  to  assert  my  in- 
nocence before  the  world  ?  Oh,  mother  (if  she  do),  use  your 
utmost  influence  to  make  her  give,  up  the  idea  !  Spare  her 
the  humiliation,  the  disappointment,  the  insult,  perhaps,  to 
which  she  may  innocently  expose  herself.  For  her  sake,  for 
my  sake,  leave  no  means  untried  to  attain  this  righteous, 
this  merciful  end. 

"  I  send  her  no  message — I  dare  not  do  it.     Say  nothing, 


198  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

when  you  see  her,  which  can  recall  me  to  her  memory.  On 
the  contrary,  help  her  to  forget  me  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
kindest  thing  I  can  do — the  one  atonement  I  can  make  to 
her — is  to  drop  out  of  her  life." 

With  those  wretched  words  it  ended.  I  handed  his  letter 
back  to  his  mother  in  silence.  She  said  but  little  on  her  side. 

"If  this  .doesn't  discourage  you,"  she  remarked,  slowly 
folding  up  the  letter,  "  nothing  will.  Let  us  leave  it  there, 
and  say  no  more." 

I  made  no  answer — I  was  crying  behind  my  veil.  My  do- 
mestic prospect  looked  so  dreary  !  my  unfortunate  husband 
was  so  hopelessly  misguided,  so  pitiably  wrong !  The  one 
chance  for  both  of  us,  and  the  one  consolation  for  poor  Me, 
was  to  hold  to  my  desperate  resolution  more  firmly  than 
ever.  If  I  had  wanted  any  thing  to  confirm  me  in  this  view, 
and  to  arm  me  against  the  remonstrances  of  every  one  of 
my  friends,  Eustace's  letter  would  have  proved  more  than  suf- 
ficient to  answer  the  purpose.  At  least  he  had  not  forgotten 
me ;  he  thought  of  me,  and  he  mourned  the  loss  of  me  every 
day  of  his  life.  That  was  encouragement  enough — for  the 
present.  "  If  Ariel  calls  for  me  in  the  pony-chaise  to-mor- 
row," I  thought  to  myself,  "  with  Ariel  I  go." 

Mrs.  Macallan  set  me  down  at  Benjamin's  door. 

I  mentioned  to  her  at  parting — I  stood  sufficiently  in  awe 
of  her  to  put  it  off  till  the  last  moment — that  Miserrimus 
Dexter  had  arranged  to  send  his  cousin  and  his  pony-chaise 
to  her  residence  on  the  next  day ;  and  I  inquired  thereupon 
whether  my  mother-in-law  would  permit  me  to  call  at  her 
house  to  wait  for  the  appearance  of  the  cousin,  or  whether 
she  would  prefer  sending  the  chaise  on  to  Benjamin's  cot- 
tage. I  fully  expected  an  explosion  of  anger  to  follow  this 
bold  avowal  of  my  plans  for  the  next  day.  The  old  lady 
agreeably  surprised  me.  She  proved  that  she  had  really 
taken  a  liking  to  me :  she  kept  her  temper. 

"  If  you  persist  in  going  back  to  Dexter,  you  certainly  shall 
not  go  to  him  from  my  door,"  she  said.  "  But  I  hope  you 
will  not  persist.  I  hope  you  will  awake  a  wiser  woman  to- 
moiTOw  morning." 

The  morning  came.  A  little  before  noon  the  arrival  of  the 
pony- chaise  was  announced  at  the  door,  and  a  letter  was 
brought  in  to  me  from  Mrs.  Macallan. 


THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  199 

"  I  have  no  right  to  control  your  movements,"  my  mother- 
in-law  wrote.  "I  send  the  chaise  to  Mr.  Benjamin's  house; 
and  I  sincerely  trust  that  you  will  not  take  your  place  in  it. 
I  wish  I  could  persuade  you,  Valeria,  how  truly  I  am  your 
friend.  I  have  been  thinking  about  you  anxiously  in  the 
wakeful  hours  of  the  night.  How  anxiously,  you  will  under- 
stand when  I  tell  you  that  I  now  reproach  myself  for  not  hav- 
ing done  more  than  I  did  to  prevent  your  unhappy  marriage. 
And  yet,  what  more  I  could  have  done  I  don't  really  know. 
My  son  admitted  to  me  that  he  was  courting  you  under  an 
assumed  name,  but  he  never  told  me  what  the  name  was,  or 
who  you  were,  or  where  your  friends  lived.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  taken  measures  to  find  this  out.  Perhaps,  if  I  had 
succeeded,  I  ought  to  have  interfered  and  enlightened  you, 
even  at  the  sad  sacrifice  of  making  an  enemy  of  my  own  son. 
I  honestly  thought  I  did  my  duty  in  expressing  my  disap- 
proval, and  in  refusing  to  be  present  at  the  marriage.  Was 
I  too  easily  satisfied?  It  is  too  late  to  ask.  Why  do  I 
trouble  you  with  an  old  woman's  vain  misgivings  and  re- 
grets? My  child,  if  you  come  to  any  harm,  I  shall  feel  (in- 
directly) responsible  for  it.  It  is  this  uneasy  state  of  mind 
which  sets  me  writing,  with  nothing  to  say  that  can  interest 
you.  D.on't  go  to  Dexter !  The  fear  has  been  pursuing  me 
all  night  that  your  going  to  Dexter  will  end  badly.  Write 
him  an  excuse.  Valeria!  I  firmly  believe  you  will  repent 
it  if  you  return  to  that  house." 

Was  ever  a  woman  more  plainly  warned,  more  carefully 
advised,  than  I?  And  yet  warning  and  advice  were  both 
thrown  away  on  me. 

Let  me  say  for  myself  that  I  was  really  touched  by  the 
kindness  of  my  mother-in-law's  letter,  though  I  was  not 
shaken  by  it  in  the  smallest  degree.  As  long  as  I  lived, 
moved,  and  thought,  my  one  purpose  now  was  to  make  Mi- 
serrimus  Dexter  confide  to  me  his  ideas  on  the  subject  of 
Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death.  To  those  ideas  I  looked  as 
my  guiding  stars  along  the  dark  way  on  which  I  was  going. 
I  wrote  back  to  Mrs.  Macallan,  as  I  really  felt,  gratefully  and 
penitently.  And  then  I  went  out  to  the  chaise. 


200  THE    LAW    AND    TIIE    LADY. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ME.     DEXTEK     AT     HOME. 

I  FOUND  all  the  idle  boys  in  the  neighborhood  collected 
around  the  pony-chaise,  expressing,  in  the  occult  language  of 
slang,  their  high  enjoyment  and  appreciation  at  the  appear- 
ance of  "Ariel"  in  her  man's  jacket  and  hat.  The  pony  was 
fidgety — he  felt  the  influence  of  the  popular  uproar.  His 
driver  sat,  whip  in  hand,  magnificently  impenetrable  to  the 
gibes  and  jests  that  were  flying  around  her.  I  said  "  Good- 
morning"  on  getting  into  the  chaise.  Ariel  only  said  "Gee 
up !"  and  started  the  pony. 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  perform  the  journey  to  the  distant 
northern  suburb  in  silence.  It  was  evidently  useless  for  me 
to  attempt  to  speak,  and  experience  informed  me  that  I  need 
not  expect  to  hear  a  word  fall  from  the  lips  of  my  companion. 
Experience,  however,  is  not  always  infallible.  After  driving 
for  half  an  hour  in  stolid  silence,  Ariel  astounded  me  by  sud- 
denly bursting  into  speech. 

"Do  you  know  what  we  are  coming  to?"  she  asked,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  straight  between  the  pony's  ears. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "I  don't  know  the  road.  What  are 
we  coming  to  ?" 

"  We  are  coming  to  a  canal." 

"  Well?" 

"Well,  I  have  half  a  mind  to  upset  you  in  the  canal." 

This  formidable  announcement  appeared  to  require  some 
explanation.  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  for  it. 

"  Why  should  you  upset  me  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Because  I  hate  you,"  was  the  cool  and  candid  reply. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  offend  you  ?"  I  asked  next. 

"What  do  you  want  with  the  Master?"  Ariel  asked,  in 
her  turn. 

"Do  you  mean  Mr. Dexter?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  want  to  have  some  talk  with  Mr.  Dexter." 

"You  don't !  You  want  to  take  my  place.  You  want  to 
brush  his  hair  and  oil  his  beard,  instead  of  me.  You  wretch  !" 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  201 

I  now  began  to  understand.  The  idea  which  Miserrimus 
Dexter  had  jestingly  put  into  her  head,  in  exhibiting  her  to 
ns  on  the  previous  night,  had  been  ripening  slowly  in  that 
dull  brain,  and  had  found  its  way  outward  into  words,  about 
fifteen  hours  afterward,  under  the  irritating  influence  of  my 
presence ! 

"I  don't  want  to  touch  his  hair  or  his  beard,"  I  said.  "I 
leave  that  entirely  to  you." 

She  looked  around  at  me,  her  fat  face  flushing,  her  dull  eyes 
dilating,  with  the  unaccustomed  effort  to  express  herself  in 
speech,  and  to  understand  what  was  said  to  her  in  return. 

"  Say  that  again,"  she  burst  out.  "  And  say  it  slower  this 
time." 

I  said  it  again,  and  I  said  it  slower. 

"  Swear  it !"  she  cried,  getting  more  and  more  excited. 

I  preserved  my  gravity  (the  canal  was  just  visible  in  the 
distance),  and  swore  it. 

"Are  you  satisfied  now  ?"  I  asked. 

There  was  no  answer.  Her  last  resources  of  speech  were 
exhausted.  The  strange  creature  looked  back  again  straight 
between  the  pony's  ears,  emitted  hoarsely  a  grunt  of  relief, 
and  never  more  looked  at  me,  never  more  spoke  to  me,  for 
the  rest  of  the  journey.  We  drove  past  the  banks  of  the 
canal,  and  I  escaped  immersion.  We  rattled,  in  our  jingling 
little  vehicle,  through  the  streets  and  across  the  waste  patch- 
es of  ground,  which  I  dimly  remembered  in  the  darkness,  and 
which  looked  more  squalid  and  more  hideous  than  ever  in 
the  broad  daylight.  The  chaise  turned  down  a  lane,  too 
narrow  for  the  passage  of  any  larger  vehicle,  and  stopped  at 
a  wall  and  a  gate  that  were  new  objects  to  me.  Opening 
the  gate  with  her  key,  and  leading  the  pony,  Ariel  introduced 
me  to  the  back  garden  and  yard  of  Miserrimus  Dextcr's  rot- 
ten and  rambling  old  house.  The  pony  walked  off  inde- 
pendently to  his  stable,  with  the  chaise  behind  him.  My  si- 
lent companion  led  me  through  a  bleak  and  barren  kitchen, 
and  along  a  stone  passage.  Opening  a  door  at  the  end,  she 
admitted  me  to  the  back  of  the  hall,  into  which  Mrs.  Macal- 
lan and  I  had -penetrated  by  the  front  entrance  to  the  house. 
Here  Ariel  lifted  a  whistle  which  hung  around  her  neck,  and 
blew  the  shrill  trilling  notes  with  the  sound  of  which  I  was 
already  familiar  as  the  means  of  communication  between 
MisiM-rimiis  Dexter  and  his  slave.  The  whistling  over,  the 


202      ^Z"2  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

slave's  unwilling   lips   struggled  into   speech  for  the  last 
time. 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  the  Master's  whistle,"  she  said  ;  "  then 
go  up-stairs." 

So !  I  was  to  be  whistled  for  like  a  dog  !  And,  worse  still, 
there  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  submit  like  a  dog.  Had 
Ariel  any  excuses  to  make  ?  Nothing  of  the  sort. 

She  turned  her  shapeless  back  on  me  and  vanished  into 
the  kitchen  region  of  the  house. 

After  waiting  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  hearing  no  signal 
from  the  floor  above,  I  advanced  into  the  broader  and  brighter 
part  of  the  hall,  to  look  by  daylight  at  the  pictures  which  I 
had  only  imperfectly  discovered  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
A  painted  inscription  in  many  colors,  just  under  the  cornice 
of  the  ceiling,  informed  me  that  the  works  on  the  walls  were 
the  production  of  the  all-accomplished  Dexter  himself.  Not 
satisfied  with  being  poet  and  composer,  he  was  painter  as 
well.  On  one  wall  the  subjects  were  described  as  "Illustra- 
tions of  the  Passions ;"  on  the  other,  as  "Episodes  in  the  Life 
of  the  Wandering  Jew."  Chance  speculators  like  myself 
were  gravely  warned,  by  means  of  the  inscription,  to  view 
the  pictures  as  efforts  of  pure  imagination.  "  Persons  who 
look  for  mere  Nature  in  works  of  Art"  (the  inscription  an- 
nounced), "are  persons  to  whom  Mr.  Dexter  does  not  address 
himself  with  the  brush.  He  relies  entirely  on  his  imagina- 
tion. Nature  puts  him  out." 

Taking  due  care  to  dismiss  all  ideas  of 'Nature  from  my 
mind,  to  begin  with,  I  looked  at  the  pictures  which  repre- 
sented the  Passions  first. 

Little. as  I  knew  critically  of  Art,  I  could  see  that  Miser- 
rimus  Dexter  knew  still  less  of  the  rules  of  drawing,  color, 
and  composition.  His  pictures  were,  in  the  strictest  mean- 
ing of  that  expressive  word,  Daubs.  The  diseased  and  riot- 
ous delight  of  the  painter  in  representing  Horrors  was  (with 
certain  exceptions  to  be  hereafter  mentioned)  the  one  re- 
markable quality  that  I  could  discover  in  the  series  of  his 
works. 

("The  first  of  the  Passion  pictures  illustrated  Revenge.  A 
corpse,  in  fancy  costume,  lay  on  the  bank  of  a  foaming  river, 
under  the  shade  of  a  giant  tree.  An  infuriated  man,  also  in 
fancy  costume,  stood  astride  over  the  dead  body,  with  his 
sword  lifted  to  the  lowering  sky,  and  watched,  with  a  horrid 


TIIK    LAW    AND    THE    I. ADV.  20U 

expression  of  delight,  the  blood  of  the  man  whom  lie  had 
just  killed  dripping  slowly  in  a  procession  of  big  red  drops 
down  the  broad  blade  of  his  weapon.  The  next  picture  il- 
lustrated Cruelty,  in  many  compartments.  In  one  I  saw  a 
disemboweled  horse  savagely  spurred  on  by  his  rider  at  a 
bull-fight.  In  another,  an  aged  philosopher  was  dissecting  a 
living  cat,  and  gloating  over  his  work.  In  a  third,  two  pa- 
gans politely  congratulated  each  other  on  the  torture  of  two 
saints :  one  saint  was  roasting  on  a  gridiron ;  the  other, 
hung  up  to  a  tree  by  his  heels,  had  been  just  skinned,  and 
was  not  quite  dead  yet.  Feeling  no  great  desire,  after  these 
specimens,  to  look  at  any  more  of  the  illustrated  Passions,  I 
turned  to  the  opposite  wall  to  be  instructed  in  the  career  of 
the  Wandering  Jew.  jHere  a  second  inscription  informed 
me  that  the  painter  considered  the  Flying  Dutchman  to  be 
no  other  than  the  Wandering  Jew,  pursuing  his  interminable 
journey  by  sea.  The  marine  adventures  of  this  mysterious 
personage  were  the  adventures  chosen  for  representation  by 
Dexter's  brush.  The  first  picture  showed  me  a  harbor  on  a 
rocky  coast.  A  vessel  was  at  anchor,  with  the  helmsman 
singing  on  the  deck.  The  sea  in  the  oiling  was  black  and 
rolling;  thunder- clouds  lay  low  on  the  horizon,  split  by 
broad  flashes  of  lightning.  In  the  glare  of  the  lightning, 
heaving  and  pitching,  appeared  the  misty  form  of  the  Phan- 
tom Ship  approaching  the  shore.  In- this  work,  badly  as  it 
was  painted,  there  were  really  signs  of  a  powerful  imagina- 
tion, and  even  of  a  poetical  feeling  for  the  supernatural. 
The  next  picture  showed  the  Phantom  Ship,  moored  (to  the 
horror  and  astonishment  of  the  helmsman)  behind  the  earth- 
ly vessel  in  the  harbor.  The  Jew  had  stepped  on  shore. 
His  boat  was  on  the  beach.  His  crew  —  little  men  with 
stony,  white  faces,  dressed  in  funereal  black — sat  in  silent 
rows  on  the  seats  of  the  boat,  with  their  oars  in  their  lean, 
long  hands.  The  Jew,  also  in  black,  stood  with  his  eyes  and 
hands  raised  imploringly  to  the  thunderous  heaven.  The 
wild  creatures  of  land  and  sea — the  tiger,  the  rhinoceros,  the 
crocodile,  the  sea-serpent,  the  shark,  and  the  devil-fish — sur- 
rounded the  accursed  Wanderer  in  a  mystic  circle,  daunted 
and  fascinated  at  the  sight  of  him.  The  lightning  was  gone. 
The  sky  and  sea  had  darkened  to  a  great  black  blank.  A 
faint  and  lurid  light  lit  the  scene,  falling  downward  from  a 
torch,  brandished  by  an  avenging  Spirit  that  hovered  over 


204  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

the  Jew  on  outspread  vulture  wings.  Wild  as  the  picture 
might  be  in  its  conception,  there  was  a  suggestive  power  in 
it  which  I  confess  strongly  impressed  me.  The  mysterious 
silence  in  the  house,  and  my  strange  position  at  the  moment, 
no  doubt  had  their  effect  on  my  mind.  While  I  was  still 
looking  at  the  ghastly  composition  before  me,  the  shrill  trill- 
ing sound  of  the  whistle  up-stairs  burst  on  the  stillness. 
jFor  the  moment  my  nerves  were  so  completely  upset  that  I 
started  with  a  cry  of  alarm.  I  felt  a  momentary  impulse  to 
open  the  door  and  run  out.  The  idea  of  trusting  myself 
alone  with  the  man  who  had  painted  those  frightful  pictures 
actually  terrified  me;  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on  one  of 
the  hall  chairs.  Some  minutes  passed  before  my  mind  re- 
covered its  balance,  and  I  began  to  feel  like  my  own  ordinary 
self  again.  The  whistle  sounded  impatiently  for  the  second 
time.  I  rose  and  ascended  the  broad  flight  of  stairs  which 
led  to  the  first  story.  To  draw  back  at  the  point  which  I 
had  now  reached  would  have  utterly  degraded  me  in  my  own 
estimation.  Still,  my  heart  did  certainly  beat  faster  than 
usual  as  I  approached  the  door  of  the  circular  anteroom; 
and  I  honestly  acknowledge  that  I  saw  my  own  imprudence, 
just  then,  in  a  singularly  vivid  light. 

There  was  a  glass  over  the  mantel-piece  in  the  anteroom. 
I  lingered  for  a  moment  (nervous  as  I  was)  to  see  how  I 
looked  in  the  glass. 

The  hanging  tapestry  over  the  inner  door  had  been  left 
partially  drawn  aside.  Softly  as  I  moved,  the  dog's  ears  of 
Miserrimus  Dexter  caught  the  sound  of  rny  dress  on  the 
floor.  The  fine  tenor  voice,  which  I  had  last  heard  singing, 
called  to  me  softly. 

"Is  that  Mrs. Valeria ?  Please  don't  wait  there.  Come 
in!" 

I  entered  the  inner  room. 

The  wheeled  chair  advanced  to  meet  me,  so  slowly  and  so 
softly  that  I  hardly  knew  it  again.  Miserrimus  Dexter  lan- 
guidly held  out  his  hand.  His  head  inclined  pensively  to 
one  side ;  his  large  blue  eyes  looked  at  me  piteously.  Not 
a  vestige  seemed  to  be  left  of  the  raging,  shouting  creature 
of  my  first  visit,  who  was  Napoleon  at  one  moment,  and 
Shakespeare  at  another.  Mr.  Dexter  of  the  morning  was 
a  mild,  thoughtful,  melancholy  man,  who  only  recalled  Mr. 
Dexter  of  the  night  by  the  inveterate  oddity  of  his  dress. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  205 

His  jacket,  on  this  occasion,  was  of  pink  quilted  silk.  The 
coverlet  which  hid  his  deformity  matched  the  jacket  in  pale 
sea-green  satin  ;  and,  to  complete  these  strange  vagaries  of 
costume,  his  wrists  were  actually  adorned  with  massive 
bracelets  of  gold,  formed  on  the  severely  simple  'models 
which  have  descended  to  us  from  ancient  times. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  cheer  and  charm  me  by  coming 
here  !"  he  said,  in  his  most  mournful  and  most  musical  tones. 
"I  have  dressed,  expressly  to  receive  you,  in  the  prettiest 
clothes  I  have.  Don't  be  surprised.  Except  in  this  ignoble 
and  material  nineteenth  century,  men  have  always  worn 
precious  stuffs  and  beautiful  colors  as  well  as  women.  A 
hundred  years  ago  a  gentleman  in  pink  silk  was  a  gentleman 
properly  dressed.  Fifteen  hundred  years  ago  the  patricians 
of  the  classic  times  wore  bracelets  exactly  like  mine.  I  de- 
spise the  brutish  contempt  for  beauty  and  the  mean  dread  of 
expense  which  degrade  a  gentleman's  costume  to  black  cloth, 
and  limit  a  gentleman's  ornaments  to  a.  finger-ring,  in  the 
age  I  live  in.  I  like  to  be  bright  and  beautiful,  especially 
when  brightness  and  beauty  come  to  see  me.  You  don't 
know  how  precious  your  society  is  to  me.  This  is  one  of  my 
melancholy  days.  Tears  rise  unbidden  to  my  eyes.  I  sigh 
and  sorrow  over  myself;  I  languish  for  pity.  Just  think  of 
what  I  am  !  A  poor  solitary  creature,  cursed  with  a  fright- 
ful deformity.  How  pitiable  !  how  dreadful !  My  affection- 
ate heart  —  wasted.  My  extraordinary  talents — useless  or 
misapplied.  Sad  !  sad  !  sad  !  Please  pity  me." 

His  eyes  were  positively  tilled  with  tears — tears  of  compas- 
sion for  himself!  He  looked  at  me  and  spoke  to  me  with 
the  wailing,  querulous  entreaty  of  a  sick  child  wanting  to  be 
nursed.  I  was  utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  It  was  perfect- 
ly ridiculous — but  I  was  never  more  embarrassed  in  my  life. 

"Please  pity  me  !"  he  repeated.  "Don't  be  cruel.  I  only 
ask  a  little  thing.  Pretty  Mrs.  Valeria,  say  you  pity  me  !" 

I  said  I  pitied  him — and  I  felt  that  I  blushed  as  I  did  it. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miserrirnua  Dexter,  humbly.  "It  docs 
me  good.  Go  a  little  farther.  Pat  my  hand." 

I  tried  to  restrain  myself;  but  the  sense  of  the  absurdity 
of  this  last  petition  (quite  gravely  addressed  to  me,  remem- 
ber!)  was  too  strong  to  be  controlled.  I  burst  out  laughing. 

Miserrimus  Dexter  looked  at  me  with  a  blank  astonish- 
ment which  only  increased  my  merriment.  Had  I  oil  ended 


20G  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

him  ?  Apparently  not.  Recovering  from  his  astonishment, 
he  laid  his  head  luxuriously  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  with 
the  expression  of  a  man  who  was  listening  critically  to  a  per- 
formance of  some  sort.  When  I  had  quite  exhausted  myself, 
he  raised  his  head,  and  clapped  his  shapely  white  hands,  and 
honored  me  with  an  "  encore." 

"Do  it  again,"  he  said,  still  in  the  same  childish  way. 
"  Merry  Mrs.  Valeria,  you  have  a  musical  laugh — I  have  a 
musical  ear.  Do  it  again." 

I  was  serious  enough  by  this  time.  "I  am  ashamed  of 
myself,  Mr.  Dexter,"  I  said.  "  Pray  forgive  me." 

He  made  no  answer  to  this ;  I  doubt  if  he  heard  me.  His 
variable  temper  appeared  to  be  in  course  of  undergoing  some 
new  change.  He  sat  looking  at  my  dress  (as  I  supposed) 
with  a  steady  and  anxious  attention,  gravely  forming  his 
own  conclusions,  steadfastly  pursuing  his  own  train  of 
thought. 

"Mrs.  Valeria,"  he  burst  out,  suddenly,  "  you  are  not  com- 
fortable in  that  chair." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  replied ;  "  I  am  quite  comfortable." 

"Pardon  me,"  he  rejoined.  "There  is  a  chair  of  Indian 
basket-work  at  that  end  of  the  room  which  is  much  better 
suited  to  you.  Will  you  accept  my  apologies  if  I  am  rude 
enough  to  allow  you  to  fetch  it  for  yourself?  I  have  a  rea- 
son." 

He  had  a  reason  !  What  new  piece  of  eccentricity  was  he 
about  to  exhibit  ?  I  rose  and  fetched  the  chair.  It  was  light 
enough  to  be  quite  easily  carried.  As  I  returned  to  him, 
I  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  strangely  employed  in  what 
seemed  to  be  the  closest  scrutiny  of  my  dress.  And,  stranger 
still,  the  result  of  this  appeared  to  be  partly  to  interest  and 
partly  to  distress  him. 

I  placed  the  chair  near  him,  and  was  about  to  take  my  seat 
in  it,  when  he  sent  me  back  again,  on  another  errand,  to  the 
end  of  the  room. 

"Oblige  me  indescribably,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  hand- 
screen  hanging  on  the  wall,  which  matches  the  chair.  We 
are  rather  near  the  fire  here.  You  may  find  the  screen  useful. 
Once  more  forgive  me  for  letting  you  fetch  it  for  yourself. 
Once  more  let  me  assure  yon  that  I  have  a  reason." 

Here  was  his  "reason,"  reiterated,  emphatically  reiterated, 
for  the  second  time !  Curiosity  made  me  as  completely  the 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  207 

obedient  servant  of  his  caprices  as  Ariel  herself.  I  fetched 
the  hand-screen.  Returning  with  it,  I  met  his  eyes  still  fixed 
with  the  same  incomprehensible  attention  on  my  perfectly 
plain  and  unpretending  dress,  and  still  expressing  the  same 
curious  mixture  of  interest  and  regret. 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,"  he  said.  "  You  have  (quite 
innocently)  wrung  my  heart.  But  you  have  not  the  less 
done  ine  an  inestimable  kindness.  Will  you  promise  not  to 
be  offended  with  me  if  I  confess  the  truth  ?" 

He  was  approaching  his  explanation  !  I  never  gave  a 
promise  more  readily  in  my  life. 

"I  have  rudely  allowed  you  to  fetch  your  chair  and  your 
screen  for  yourself,"  he  went  on.  "My  motive  will  seem  a 
very  strange  one,  I  am  afraid.  Did  you  observe  that  I  no- 
ticed you  very  attentively — too  attentively,  perhaps?" 

"Yes," I  said.     "I  thought  you  were  noticing  my  dress." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  sighed  bitterly. 

"Not  your  dress,"  lie  said;  "and  not  your  face.  Your 
dress  is  dark.  Your  face  is  still  strange  to  me.  Dear  Mrs. 
Valeria,  I  wanted  to  see  you  walk." 

To  see  me  walk !  What  did  he  mean  ?  Where  was  that 
erratic  mind  of  his  wandering  to  now  ? 

"You  have  a  rare  accomplishment  for  an  Englishwoman," 
lie  resumed — "  you  walk  well.  She  walked  well.  I  couldn't 
resist  the  temptation  of  seeing  her  again,  in  seeing  you.  It 
was  her  movement,  her  sweet,  simple,  unsought  grace  (not 
yours),  when  you  walked  to  the  end  of  the  room  and  re- 
turned to  me.  You  raised  her  from  the  dead  when  you 
fetched  the  chair  and  the  screen.  Pardo'n  me  for  making 
use  of  you :  the  idea  was  innocent,  the  motive  was  sacred. 
You  have  distressed — and  delighted  me.  My  heart  bleeds 
— and  thanks  you." 

He  paused  for  a  moment;  he  let  his  head  droop  on  his- 
breast,  then  suddenly  raised  it  again. 

"  Surely  we  were  talking  about  her  last  night  ?"  he  said. 
"What  did  I  say?  what  did  you  say?  My  memory  is  con- 
fused ;  I  half  remember,  half  forget.  Please  remind  me. 
You're  not  offended  with  me — are  you?" 

I  might  have  been  offended  with  another  man.  Not  with 
him.  I  was  far  too  anxious  to  find  my  way  into  his  confidence 
— now  that  he  had  touched  of  his  own  accord  on  the  subject  of 
Eustace's  first  wife — to  be  offended  with  Miserriinus  Dexter. 


208  THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

"We  were  speaking,"  I  answered,  "of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macal- 
lan's death,  and  we  were  saying  to  one  another — " 

He  interrupted  me,  leaning  forward  eagerly  in  his  chair. 

"Yes!  yes!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  I  was  wondering  what 
interest  you  could  have  in  penetrating  the  mystery  of  her 
death.  Tell  me !  Confide  in  me !  I  am  dying  to  know  !" 

"  Not  even  you  have  a  stronger  interest  in  that  subject 
than  the  interest  that  I  feel,"  I  said.  "  The  happiness  of  my 
whole  life  to  come  depends  on  my  clearing  up  the  mystery." 

"Good  God— why?"  he  cried.  "Stop!  I  am  exciting 
myself.  I  mustn't  do  that.  I  must  have  all  my  wits  about 
me;  I  mustn't  wander.  The  thing  is  too  serious.  Wait  a 
minute !" 

An  elegant  little  basket  was  hooked  on  to  one  of  the  arms 
of  his  chair.  He  opened  it,  and  drew  out  a  strip  of  embroid- 
ery partially  finished,  with  the  necessary  materials  for  work- 
ing, all  complete.  We  looked  at  each  other  across  the  cm- 
broidery.  He  noticed  my  surprise. 

"  Women,"  he  said,  "  wisely  compose  their  minds,  and  help 
themselves  to  think  quietly,  by  doing  needle-work.  Why 
are  men  such  fools  as  to  deny  themselves  the  same  admirable 
resource — the  simple  and  soothing  occupation  which  keeps 
the  nerves  steady  and  leaves  the  mind  calm  and  free  ?  As  a 
man,  I  follow  the  women's  wise  example.  Mrs.  Valeria,  per- 
mit me  to  compose  myself." 

Gravely  arranging  his  embroidery,  this  extraordinary  be- 
ing began  to  work  with  the  patient  and  nimble  dexterity  of 
an  accomplished  needle-woman. 

"  Now,"  said  Mlserrimus  Dexter,  "  if  you  are  ready,  I  am. 
You  talk — I  work.  Please  begin." 

I  obeyed  him,  and  began. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IX   THE    DARK. 

WITH  such  a  man  as  Miserrimus  Dexter,  and  with  such  a 
purpose  as  I  had  in  view,  no  half-confidences  were  possible. 
I  must  either  risk  the  most  unreserved  acknowledgment  of 
the  interests  that  I  really  had  at  stake,  or  I  must  make  the 
best  excuse  that  occurred  to  me  for  abandoning  my  contcm- 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  200 

plated  experiment  at  the  last  moment.  In  my  present  crit- 
ical situation,  no  such  refuge  as  a  middle  course  lay  before 
me — even  if  I  had  been  inclined  to  take  it.  As  things  were, 
I  ran  all  risks,  and  plunged  headlong  into  my  o\vn  affairs  at 
starting. 

"  Thus  far,  you  know  little  or  nothing  about  me,  Mr.  Dex- 
ter," I  said.  "  You  are,  as  I  believe,  quite  unaware  that  my 
husband  and  I  are  not  living  together  at  the  present  time." 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  mention  your  husband  ?"  he  asked,  cold- 
ly, without  looking  up  from  his  embroidery,  and  without 
pausing  in  his  work. 

"It  is  absolutely  necessary,"  I  answered.  "I  can  explain 
myself  to  you  in  no  other  way." 

He  bent  his  head,  and  sighed  resignedly. 

"You  and  your  husband  are  not  living  together  at  the 
present  time,"  he  resumed.  "Docs  that  mean  that  Eustace 
lias  left  you  ?" 

"He  has  left  me,  and  has  gone  abroad." 

"Without  any  necessity  for  it?" 

"  Without  the  least  necessity." 

"lias  he  appointed  no  time  for  his  return  to  you?" 

"If  he  persevere  in  his  present  resolution,  Mr.  Dexter, 
Eustace  will  never  return  to  me." 

For  the  first  time  he  raised  his  head  from  his  embroidery 
— with  a  sudden  appearance  of  interest. 

"  Is  the  quarrel  so  serious  as  that  ?"  he  asked.  "  Are  you 
free  of  each  other,  pretty  Mrs.  Valeria,  by  common  consent 
of  both  parties  ?" 

The  tone  in  which  he  put  the  question  was  not  at  all  to 
my  liking.  The  look  he  fixed  on  me  was  a  look  which  un- 
pleasantly suggested  that  I  had  trusted  myself  alone  with 
him,  and  that  he  might  end  in  taking  advantage  of  it.  I  re- 
minded him  quietly,  by  my  manner  more  than  by  my  words, 
of  the  respect  which  he  owed  to  me. 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken,"  I  said.  "There  is  no  anger 
— there  is  not  even  a  misunderstanding  between  us.  Our 
parting  lias  cost  bitter  sorrow,  Mr.  Dexter,  to  him  and  to 
me." 

lie  submitted  to  be  set  right  with  ironical  resignation. 
"I  am  all  attention,"  he  said,  threading  his  needle.  "Pray 
go  on;  I  won't  interrupt  you  again."  Acting  on  this  in- 
vitation, I  told  him  the  truth  about  my  husband  and  myself 


210  TIIE    LAW  AND   THE    LADY. 

quite  unreservedly,  taking  care  however,  at  the  same  time,  to 
put  Eustace's  motives  in  the  best  light  that  they  would  bear. 
Miserrimus  Dexter  dropped  his  embroidery  on  his  lap,  and 
laughed  softly  to  himself,  with  an  impish  enjoyment  of  my 
poor  little  narrative,  which  set  every  nerve  in  me  on  edge  as 
I  looked  at  him. 

"  I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  I  said,  sharply. 

His  beautiful  blue  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  look  of  inno- 
cent surprise. 

"  Nothing  to  laugh  at,"  he  repeated,  "  in  such  an  exhibition 
of  human  folly  as  you  have  just  described  ?"  His  expression 
suddenly  changed ;  his  face  darkened  and  hardened  very 
strangely.  "  Stop !"  he  cried,  before  I  could  answer  him. 
"There  can  be  only  one  reason  for  you're  taking  it  as  seri- 
ously as  you  do.  Mrs.  Valeria !  you  are  fond  of  your  hus- 
band." 

"  Fond  of  him  isn't  strong  enough  to  express  it,"  I  retort- 
ed. "  I  love  him  with  my  whole  heart." 

Miserrimus  Dexter  stroked  his  magnificent  beard,  and  con- 
templatively repeated  my  words.  "  You  love  him.  with  your 
whole  heart  ?  Do  you  know  why  ?" 

"Because  I  can't  help  it,"  I  answered,  doggedly. 

He  smiled  satirically,  and  went  on  with  his  embroidery. 
"  Curious !"  he  said  to  himself;  "  Eustace's  first  wife  loved 
him  too.  There  are  some  men  whom  the  women  all  like,  and 
there  are  other  men  whom  the  women  never  care  for.  With- 
out the  least  reason  for  it  in  either  case.  The  one  man  is  just 
as  good  as  the  other;  just  as  handsome,  as  agreeable,  as 
honorable,  and  as  high  in  rank  as  the  other.  And  yet  for 
Number  One  they  will  go  through  fire  and  water,  and  for 
Number  Two  they  won't  so  much  as  turn  their  heads  to  look 
at  him.  Why?  They  don't  know  themselves — as  Mrs. Va- 
leria has  just  said!  Is  there  a  physical  reason  for  it?  Is 
there  some  potent  magnetic  emanation  from  Number  One 
which  Number  Two  doesn't  possess?  I  must  investigate  this 
when  I  have  the  time,  and  when  I  find  myself  in  the  humor." 
Having  so  far  settled  the  question  to  his  own  entire  satisfac- 
tion, he  looked  up  at  me  again.  "  I  am  still  in  the  dark  about 
you  and  your  motives,"  he  said.  "  I  am  still  as  far  as  ever 
from  understanding  what  your  interest  is  in  investigating 
that  hideous  tragedy  at  Gleninch.  Clever  Mrs.  Valeria, 
please  take  me  by  the  hand,  and  lead  me  into  the  light. 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  211 

You're  not  offended  with  me — are  you  ?  Make  it  up  ;  and  I 
will  give  you  this  pretty  piece  of  embroidery  when  I  have 
done  it.  I  am  only  a  poor,  solitary,  deformed  wretch,  with 
a  quaint  turn  of  mind ;  I  mean  no  harm.  Forgive  me  !  in- 
dulge me  !  enlighten  me  !" 

lie  resumed  his  childish  ways ;  he  recovered  his  innocent 
smile,  with  the  odd  little  puckers  and  wrinkles  accompanying 
it  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  I  began  to  doubt  whether  L 
might  not  have  been  unreasonably  hard  on  him.  I  penitent- 
ly resolved  to  be  more  considerate  toward  his  infirmities  of 
mind  and  body  during  the  remainder  of  my  visit. 

"  Let  me  go  back  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Dexter,  to  past  times 
at  Gleninch,"  I  said.  "  You  agree  with  me  in  believing  Eus- 
tace to  be  absolutely  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which  he  was 
tried.  Your  evidence  at  the  Trial  tells  me  that." 

He  paused  over  his  work,  and  looked  at  me  with  a  grave 
and  stern  attention  which  presented  his  face  in  quite  a  new 
light. 

"That  is  our  opinion,"  I  resumed.  "But  it  was  not  the 
opinion  of  the  Jury.  Their  verdict,  you  remember,  was  Not 
Proven.  In  plain  English,  the  Jury  who  tried  my  husband 
declined  to  express  their  opinion,  positively  and  publicly, 
that  he  was  innocent.  Am  I  right  ?" 

Instead  of  answering,  he  suddenly  put  his  embroidery  back 
in  the  basket,  and  moved  the  machinery  of  his  chair,  so  as  to 
bring  it  close  by  mine. 

"  Who  told  you  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  found  it  for  myself  in  a  book." 

Thus  far  his  face  had  expressed  steady  attention — and  no 
more.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  thought  I  saw  something 
darkly  passing  over  him  which  betrayed  itself  to  my  mind 
as  rising  distrust. 

"Ladies  are  not  generally  in  the  habit  of  troubling  their 
heads  about  dry  questions  of  law,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan  the  Second,  you  must  have  some  very  powerful 
motive  for  turning  your  studies  that  way." 

"  I  have  a  very  powerful  motive,  Mr.  Dexter.  My  husband 
is  resigned  to  the  Scotch  Verdict.  His  mother  is  resigned 
to  it.  His  friends  (so  far  as  I  know)  arc  resigned  to  it — " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well !    I  don't  agree  with  my  husband,  or  his  mother,  or 
his  friends.     I  refuse  to  submit  to  the  Scotch  Verdict." 
K 


212  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

The  instant  I  said  those  words,  the  madness  in  him  which 
I  had  hitherto  denied,  seemed  to  break  out.  He  suddenly 
stretched  himself  over  his  chair:  he  pounced  on  me,  with  a 
hand  on  each  of  my  shoulders ;  his  wild  eyes  questioned  me 
fiercely,  frantically,  within  a  few  inches  of  my  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  shouted,  at  the  utmost  pitch 
of  his  ringing  and  resonant  voice. 

A  deadly  fear  of  him  shook  me.  I  did  my  best  to  hide 
the  outward  betrayal  of  it.  By  look  and  word,  I  showed 
him,  as  firmly  as  I  could,  that  I  resented  the  liberty  he  had 
taken  with  me. 

"  Remove  your  hands,  sir,"  I  said,  "  and  retire  to  your 
proper  place." 

He  obeyed  me  mechanically.  He  apologized  to  me  me- 
chanically. His  whole  mind  was  evidently  still  filled  with 
the  words  that  I  had  spoken  to  him,  and  still  bent  on  dis- 
covering what  those  words  meant. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said ;  "  I  humbly  beg  your  par- 
don. The  subject  excites  me,  frightens  rne,  maddens  me. 
You  don't  know  what  a  difficulty  I  have  in  controlling 
myself.  Never  mind.  Don't  take  me  seriously.  Don't  be 
frightened  at  me.  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself — I  feel  so 
small  and  so  miserable  at  having  offended  you.  Make  me 
suffer  for  it.  Take  a  stick  and  beat  me.  Tie  me  down  in 
my  chair.  Call  up  Ariel,  who  is  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and 
tell  her  to  hold  me.  Dear  Mrs.  Valeria  !  Injured  Mrs.  Va- 
leria !  I'll  endure  any  thing  in  the  way  of  punishment,  if 
you  will  only  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  not  submitting  to 
the  Scotch  Verdict."  He  backed  his  chair  penitently  as  he 
made  that  entreaty.  "Am  I  .far  enough  away  yet?"  he 
asked,  with  a  rueful  look.  "Do  I  still  frighten  you?  I'll 
drop  out  of  sight,  if  you  prefer  it,  in  the  bottom  of  the  chair." 

He  lifted  the  sea-green  coverlet.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  disappeared  like  a  puppet  in  a  show  if  I  had  not 
stopped  him. 

"  Say  nothing  more,  and  do  nothing  more  ;  I  accept  your 
apologies,"  I  said.  "  When  I  tell  you  that  I  refuse  to  sub- 
mit to  the  opinion  of  the  Scotch  Jury,  I  mean  exactly  what 
my  words  express.  That  verdict  has  left  a  stain  on  my  hus- 
band's character.  He  feels  the  stain  bitterly.  •  How^ bitter- 
ly no  one  knows  so  well  as  I  do.  His  sense  of  his  degrada- 
tion is  the  sense  that  has  parted  him  from  me.  It  is  not 


THE    LAW    AND   TUE    LADY.  213 

enough  for  him  that  I  am  persuaded  of  his  innocence.  Noth- 
ing will  bring  him  back  to  me — nothing  will  persuade  Eus- 
tace that  I  think  him  worthy  to  be  the  guide  and  companion 
of  my  life  —  but  the  proof  of  his  innocence,  set  before  the 
Jury  which  doubts  it,  and  the  public  which  doubts  it,  to  this 
day.  He  and  his  friends  and  his  lawyers  all  despair  of  ever 
finding  that  proof  now.  But  I  am  his  wife  ;  and  none  of 
you  love  him  as  I  love  him.  I  alone  refuse  to  despair;  I 
alone  refuse  to  listen  to  reason.  If  God  spare  me,  Mr.  Dex- 
ter, I  dedicate  my  life  to  the  vindication  of  my  husband's  in- 
nocence.. You  are  hie  old  friend — I  am  here  to  ask  you  to 
help  me." 

It  appeared  to  be  now  my  turn  to  frighten  him.  The 
color  left  his  face.  He  passed  his  hand  restlessly  over  his 
forehead,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  brush  some  delusion  out  of 
his  brain. 

"  Is  this  one  of  my  dreams  ?"  he  asked,  faintly.  "Are  you 
a  Vision  of  the  night  ?" 

"  I  am  only  a  friendless  woman,"  I  said, "  who  has  lost  all 
that  she  loved  and  prized,  and  who  is  trying  to  win  it  back 
again." 

He  began  to  move  his  chair  nearer  to  me  once  more.  I 
lifted  my  hand.  He  stopped  the  chair  directly.  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence.  We  sat  watching  one  another.  I  saw 
his  hands  tremble  as  he  laid  them  on  the  coverlet ;  I  saw  his 
face  grow  paler  and  paler,  and  his  under- lip  drop.  What 
dead  and  buried  remembrances  had  I  brought  to  life  in  him, 
in  all  their  olden  horror  ? 

He  was  the  first  to  speak  again. 

"  So  this  is  your  interest,"  he  said,  "  in  clearing  up  the 
mystery  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  believe  that  I  can  help  you  ?" 

"  I  do." 

He  slowly  lifted  one  of  his  hands,  and  pointed  at  me  with 
his  long  forefinger. 

"  You  suspect  somebody,"  he  said. 

The  tone  in  which  he  spoke  was  low  and  threatening;  it 
warned  me  to  be  careful.  At  the  same  time,  if  I  now  shut 
him  out  .of  my  confidence,  I  should  lose  the  reward  that 
might  yef  be  to  come,  for  all  that  I  had  suffered  and  risked 
at  that  perilous  interview. 


214  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  You  suspect  somebody,"  he  repeated. 

"  Perhaps  !"  was  all  that  I  said  in  return. 

"  Is  the  person  within  your  reach  ?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  person  is  ?" 

"  No." 

He  laid  his  head  languidly  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  with 
a  trembling  long-drawn  sigh.  Was  he  disappointed  ?  Or 
was  he  relieved  ?  Or  was  he  simply  exhausted  in  mind  and 
body  alike  ?  Who  could  fathom  him  ?  Who  could  say  ? 

"  Will  you  give  me  five  minutes  ?"  he  asked,  feebly  and 
wearily,  without  raising  his  head.  "  You  know  already  how 
any  reference  to  events  at  Gleninch  excites  and  shakes  me. 
I  shall  be  fit  for  it  again,  if  you  will  kindly  give  me  a  few 
minutes  to  myself.  There  are  books  in  the  next  room.  Please 
excuse  me." 

I  at  once  retired  to  the  circular  antechamber.  He  fol- 
lowed me  in  his  chair,  and  closed  the  door  between  us. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  THE    LIGHT. 

A  LITTLE  interval  of  solitude  was  a  relief  to  me,  as  well  as 
to  Miserrimus  Dexter. 

Startling  doubts  beset  me  as  I  walked  restlessly  backward 
and  forward,  now  in  the  anteroom,  and  now  in  the  corridor 
outside*  It  was  plain  that  I  had  (quite  innocently)  disturb- 
ed the  repose  of  some  formidable  secrets  in  Miserrimus  Dex- 
ter's  mind.  I  confused  and  wearied  my  poor  brains  in  try- 
ing to  guess  what  the  secrets  might  be.  All  my  ingenuity 
— as  after-events  showed  me — was  wasted  on  speculations 
not  one  of  which  even  approached  the  truth.  I  was  on  surer 
ground  when  I  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Dexter  had 
really  kept  every  mortal  creature  out  of  his  confidence.  He 
could  never  have  betrayed  such  serious  signs  of  disturbance 
as  I 'had  noticed  in  him,  if  he  had  publicly  acknowledged  at 
the  Trial,  or  if  he  had  privately  communicated  to  any  chos- 
en friend,  all  that  he  knew  of  the  tragic  and  terrible  drama 
acted  in  the  bedchamber  at  Gleninch.  What  powerful  influ- 
ence had  induced  him  to  close  his  lips?  Had  he  been  silent 


THE    LAW   AND  THE   LADY.  210 

in  mercy  to  others  ?  or  in  dread  of  consequences  to  himself? 
Impossible  to  tell !  Could  I  hope  that  he  would  confide  to 
Me  what  he  had  kept  secret  from  Justice  and  Friendship 
alike  ?  When  he  knew  what  I  really  wanted  of  him,  would 
he  arm  me,  out  of  his  own  stores  of  knowledge,  with  the 
weapon  that  would  win  me  victory  in  the  struggle  to  come  ? 
The  chances  were  all  against  it — there  was  no  denying  that. 
Still  the  end  was  worth  trying  for.  The  caprice  of  the  mo- 
ment might  yet  stand  my  friend,  with  such  a  wayward  being 
as  Miserrinius  Dexter.  My  plans  and  projects  were  sufficient- 
ly strange,  sufficiently  wide  of  the  ordinary  limits  of  a  wom- 
an's thoughts  and  actions,  to  attract  his  sympathies.  "  Who 
knows,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  if  I  may  not  take  his  confi- 
dence by  surprise, by  simply  telling  him  the  truth?" 

The  interval  expired;  the  door  was  thrown  open;  the  voice 
of  my  host  summoned  me  again  to  the  inner  room. 

"  Welcome  back  !"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter.  "  Dear  Mrs. 
Valeria,  I  am  quite  mysetf  again.  How  are  you  ?" 

He  looked  and  spoke  with  the  easy  cordiality  of  an  old 
friend.  During  the  period  of  my  absence,  short  as  it  was, 
another  change  had  passed  over  this  most  multiform  of  liv- 
ing beings.  His  eyes  sparkled  with  good-humor ;  his  cheeks 
were  flushing  under  a  new  excitement  of  some  sort.  Even 
his  dress  had  undergone  alteration  since  I  had  seen  it  last. 
He  now  wore  an  extemporized  cap  of  white  paper ;  his  ruf- 
fles were  tucked  up;  a  clean  apron  was  thrown  over  the  sea- 
green  coverlet.  He  backed  his  chair  before  me,  bowing  and 
smiling,  and  waved  me  to  a  seat  with  the  grace  of  a  dancing 
master,  chastened  by  the  dignity  of  a  lord  in  waiting. 

"  I  am  going  to  cook,"  he  announced,  with  the  most  en- 
gaging simplicity.  "  We  both  stand  in  need  of  refreshment 
before  we  return  to  the  serious  business  of  our  interview. 
You  see  me  in  my  cook's  dress  ;  forgive  it.  There  is  a  form 
in  these  things.  I  am  a  great  stickler  for  forms.  I  have  been 
taking  some  wine.  Please  sanction  that  proceeding  by  tak- 
ing some  wine  too." 

He  filled  a  goblet  of  ancient  Venetian  glass  with  a  purple- 
red  liquor,  beautiful  to  see. 

"Burgundy!"  he  said — "the  king  of  wines.  And  tliis  is 
the  king  of  Burgundies  —  Clos  Vougeot.  I  drink  to  your 
health  and  happiness  !" 

He  filled  a  second  goblet  for  himself,  and  honored  the  toast 


216  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

by  draining  it  to  the  bottom.  I  now  understood  the  sparkle 
in  his  eyes  and  the  flush  in  his  cheeks.  It  was  my  interest 
not  to  offend  him.  I  drank  a  little  of  his  wine,  and  I  quite 
agreed  with  him.  I  thought  it  delicious. 

"  What  shall  we  eat  ?"  he  asked.  "  It  must  be  something 
worthy  of  our  Clos  Vougeot.  Ariel  is  good  at  roasting  and 
boiling  joints,  poor  wretch  !  but  I  don't  insult  your  taste  by 
offering  you  Ariel's  cookery.  Plain  joints !"  he  exclaimed, 
with  an  expression  of  refined  disgust.  "  Bah !  A  man  who 
eats  a  plain  joint  is  only  one  remove  from  a  cannibal  or  a 
butcher.  Will  you  leave  it  to  me  to  discover  something 
more  worthy  of  us  ?  Let  us  go  to  the  kitchen." 

He  wheeled  his  chair  around,  and  invited  me  to  accompany 
him  with  a  courteous  wave  of  his  hand. 

I  followed  the  chair  to  some  closed  curtains  at  one  end  of 
the  room,  which  I  had  not  hitherto  noticed.  Drawing  aside 
the  curtains,  he  revealed  to  view  an  alcove,  in  which  stood  a 
neat  little  gas-stove  for  cooking.  Drawers  and  cupboards, 
plates,  dishes,  and  saucepans,  were  ranged  around  the  alcove 
— all  on  a  miniature  scale,  all  scrupulously  bright  and  clean. 
"Welcome  to  the  kitchen!"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter.  He 
drew  out  of  a  recess  in  the  wall  a  marble  slab,  which  served  as 
a  table,  and  reflected  profoundly,  with  his  hand  to  his  head. 
"  I  have  it !"  he  cried,  and  opening  one  of  the  cupboards  next, 
took  from  it  a  black  bottle  of  a  form  that  was  new  to  me. 
Sounding  this  bottle  with  a  spike,  he  pierced  and  produced 
to  view  some  little  irregularly  formed  black  objects,  which 
might  have  been  familiar  enough  to  a  woman  accustomed 
to  the  luxurious  tables  of  the  rich,  but  which  were  a  new 
revelation  to  a  person  like  myself,  who  nad  led  a  simple 
country  life-in  the  house  of  a  clergyman  with  small  means. 
When  I  saw  my  host  carefully  lay  out  these  occult  substan- 
ces of  uninviting  appearance  on  a  clean  napkin,  and  then 
plunge  once  more  into  profound  reflection  at  the  sight  of 
them,  my  curiosity  could  be  no  longer  restrained.  I  vent- 
ured to  say,  "  What  are  those  things,  Mr.  Dexter,  and  are  we 
really  going  to  eat  them?" 

He  started  at  the  rash  question,  and  looked  at  me  with 
hands  outspread  in  irrepressible  astonishment. 

"Where  is  our  boasted  progress?"  he  cried.  "What  is 
education  but  a  name?  Here  is  a  cultivated  person  who 
doesn't  know  Truffles  when  she  sees  them  !" 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  217 

"  I  have  heard  of  truffles,"  I  answered,  humbly,  "  but  I 
never  saw  them  before.  We  had  no  such  foreign  luxuries  as 
those,  Mr.  Dexter,  at  home  in  the  North." 

Miserrimus  Dexter  lifted  one  of  the  truffles  tenderly  on  his 
spike,  and  held  it  up  to  me  in  a  favorable  light. 

"Make  the  most  of  one  of  the  few  first  sensations  in  this 
life  which  has  no  ingredient  of  disappointment  lurking  under 
the  surface,"  he  said.  "Look  at  it ;  meditate  over  it.  You 
shall  eat  it,  Mrs. Valeria,  stewed  in  Burgundy  !" 

He  lighted  the  gas  for  cooking  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
was  about  to  offer  me  an  inestimable  proof  of  his  good-will. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  observe  the  most  absolute  silence,"  he 
said,  "dating  from  the  moment  when  I  take  this  in  my  hand." 
He  produced  a  bright  little  stew-pan  from  his  collection  of 
culinary  utensils  as  he  spoke.  "Properly  pursued,  the  Art 
of  Cookery  allows  of  no  divided  attention,"  he  continued, 
gravely.  "In  that  observation  you  will  find  the  reason  why 
no  woman  ever  has  reached,  or  ever  will  reach,  the  highest 
distinction  as  a  cook.  As  a  rule,  women  are  incapable  of 
absolutely  concentrating  their  attention  on  any  one  occupa- 
tion for  any  given  time.  Their  minds  will  run  on  something 
else — say,  typically,  for  the  sake  of  illustration,  their  sweet- 
heart or  their  new  bonnet.  The  one  obstacle,  Mrs. Valeria, 
to  your  rising  equal  to  the  men  in  the  various  industrial 
processes  of  life  is  not  raised,  as  the  women  vainly  suppose, 
by  the  defective  institutions  of  the  age  they  live  in.  No ! 
the  obstacle  is  in  themselves.  No  institutions  that  can  be  de- 
vised to  encourage  them  will  ever  be  strong  enough  to  con- 
tend successfully  with  the  sweetheart  and  the  new  bonnet. 
A  little  while  ago,  for  instance,  I  was  instrumental  in  getting 
women  employed  in  our  local  post-office  here.  The  other 
day  I  took  the  trouble — a  serious  business  to  me — of  getting 
<lo\vn-stairs,  and  wheeling  myself  away  to  the  office  to  sec 
how  they  were  getting  on.  I  took  a  letter  with  me  to  reg- 
ister. It  had  an  unusually  long  address.  The  registering 
woman  began  copying  the  address  on  the  receipt  form,  in  a 
business-like  manner  cheering  and  delightful  to  see.  Half- 
way through,  a  little  child-sister  of  one  of  the  other  women 
employed  trotted  into  the  office,  and  popped  under  the  coun- 
ter to  go  and  apeak  to  her  relative.  The  registering  wom- 
an's mind  instantly  gave  way.  Her  pencil  stopped;  her 
eyes  wandered  off  to  the  child  with  a  channinir  expression 


218  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

of  interest.  'Well,  Lucy,'  she  said, 'how  d'ye  do?'  Then 
she  remembered  business  again,  and  returned  to  her  receipt. 
When  I  took  it  across  the  counter,  an  important  line  in  the 
address  of  my  letter  was  left  out  in  the  copy.  Thanks  to 
Lucy.  Now  a  man  in  the  same  position  would  not  have  seen 
Lucy — he  would  have  been  too  closely  occupied  with  what  he 
was  about  at  the  moment.  There  is  the  whole  difference  be- 
tween the  mental  constitution  of  the  sexes,  which  no  legisla- 
tion will  ever  alter  as  long  as  the  world  lasts !  What  does 
it  matter  ?  Women  are  infinitely  superior  to  men  in  the  moral 
qualities  which  are  the  true  adornments  of  humanity.  Be 
content — oh,  my  mistaken  sisters,  be  content  with  that !" 

He  twisted  his  chair  around  toward  the  stove.  It  was  use- 
less to  dispute  the  question  with  him,  even  if  I  had  felt  in- 
clined to  do  so.  He  absorbed  himself  in  his  stew-pan. 

I  looked  about  me  in  the  room. 

The  same  insatiable  relish  for  horrors  exhibited  down- 
stairs by  the  pictures  in  the  hall  was  displayed  again  here. 
The  photographs  hanging  on  the  wall  represented  the  vari- 
ous forms  of  madness  taken  from  the  life.  The  plaster  pasts 
ranged  on  the  shelf  opposite  were  casts  (after  death)  of  the 
heads  of  famous  murderers.  A  frightful  little  skeleton  of  a 
woman  hung  in  a  cupboard,  behind  a  glazed  door,  with  this 
cynical  inscription  placed  above  the  skull :  "  Behold  the  scaf- 
folding on  which  beauty  is  built !"  In  a  corresponding  cup- 
board, with  the  door  wide  open,  there  hung  in  loose  folds  a 
•"Shirt  (as  I  took  it"  to  be)  of  chamois  leather.  Touching  it 
(and  finding  it  to  be  far  softer  than  any  chamois  leather  that 
my  fingers  had  ever  felt  before),  I  disarranged  the  folds,  and 
disclosed  a  ticket  pinned  among  them,  describing  the  thing 
in  these  horrid  lines  :  "  Skin  of  a  French  Marquis,  tanned  in 
the  Revolution  of  Ninety-three.  Who  says  the  nobility  are 
not  good  for  something?  They  make  good  leather." 

After  this  last  specimen  of  my  host's  taste  in  curiosities, 
I  pursued  my  investigation  no  farther.  I  returned  to  my 
chair,  and  waited  for  the  truffles. 

After  a  brief  interval,  the  voice  of  the  poet-painter-com- 
poser-and-cook  summoned  me  back  to  the  alcove. 

The  gas  was  out.  The  stew-pan  and  its  accompaniments 
had  vanished.  On  the  marble  slab  wei-e  two  plates,  two 
napkins,  two  rolls  of  bread,  and  a  dish,  with  another  napkin 
in  it,  on  which  reposed  two  quaint  little  black  balls.  Mi- 


A    I-UIGIITITL    I.irn.K    SKEMCTON    OF    A   WOMAN     111  NO    IN    A    CU1-15UAKU. 

K  2 


TUB  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  219 

serritnus  Dexter,  regarding  me  with  a  smile  of  benevolent 
interest,  put  one  of  the  balls  on  my  plate,  and  took  the  other 
himself.  "  Compose  yourself,  Mrs.  Valeria,"  he  said.  "  This 
is  an  epoch  in  your  life.  Your  first  Truffle  !  Don't  touch 
it  with  the  knife.  Use  the  fork  alone.  And — pardon  me ; 
this  is  most  important — eat  slowly." 

I  followed  my  instructions,  and  assumed  an  enthusiasm 
which  I  honestly  confess  I  did  not  feel.  I  privately  thought 
the  new  vegetable  a  great  deal  too  rich,  and  in  other  respects 
quite  unworthy  of  the  fuss  that  had  been  made  about  it. 
Miserrimus  Dexter  lingered  and  languished  over  his  truffles, 
and  sipped  his  wonderful  Burgundy,  and  sang  his  own 
praises  as  a  cook  until  I  was  really  almost  mad  with  impa- 
tience to  return  to  the  real  object  of  my  visit.  In  the  reck- 
less state  of  mind  which  this  feeling  produced,  I  abruptly 
reminded  my  host  that  lie  was  wasting  our  time,  by  the  most 
dangerous  question  that  I  could  possibly  put  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Dexter,"  I  said,  "  have  you  seen  any  thing  lately  of 
Mrs.  Beauly  ?" 

The  easy  sense  of  enjoyment  expressed  in  his  face  left  it 
at  those  rash  words,  and  went  out  like  a  suddenly  extin- 
guished light.  That  furtive  distrust  of  me  which  I  had  al- 
ready noticed  instantly  made  itself  felt  again  in  his  manner 
and  in  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Beauly  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  only  know  her,"  I  answered,  "  by  what  I  have  read  of 
her  in  the  Trial." 

He  was  not  satisfied  with  that  reply. 

"You  must  have  an  interest  of  some  sort  in  Mrs.  Beauly," 
he  said,  "or  you  would  not  have  asked  me  about  her.  Is  it 
the  interest  of  a  friend,  or  the  interest  of  an  enemy  ?" 

Rash  as  I  might  be,  I  was  not  quite  reckless  enough  yet 
to  meet  that  plain  question  by  an  equally  plain  reply.  I 
saw  enough  in  his  face  to  warn  me  to  be  careful  with  him 
before  it  was  too  late. 

"  I  can  only  answer  you  in  one  way,"  I  rejoined.  "  I  must 
return  to  a  subject  which  is  very  painful  to  you — the  subject 
of  the  Trial." 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his  grim  outbursts  of  humor. 
"  Here  I  am  at  your  mercy — a  martyr  at  the  stake.  Poke 
the  fire  !  poke  the  fire  !" 

"  I  am  only  an  ignorant  woman,"  I  resumed,  "  and  I  dare 


220  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

say  I  am  quite  wrong ;  but  there  is  one  part  of  my  husband's 
trial  which  doesn't  at  all  satisfy  me.  The  defense  set  up  for 
him  seems  to  me  to  have  been  a  complete  mistake." 

"A  complete  mistake  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Strange  language, 
Mrs.  Valeria,  to  say  the  least  of  it !"  He  tried  to  speak  light- 
ly ;  he  took  up  his  goblet  of  wine ;  but  I  could  see  that  I 
had  produced  an  efiect  on  him.  His  hand  trembled  as  it 
carried  the  wine  to  his  lips. 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  Eustace's  first  wife  really  asked  him 
to  buy  the  arsenic,"  I  continued.  "  I  don't  doubt  that  she 
used  it  secretly  to  improve  her  complexion.  But  what  I  do 
not  believe  is  that  she  died  of  an  overdose  of  the  poison, 
taken  by  mistake." 

He  put  back  the  goblet  of  wine  on  the  table  near  him  so 
unsteadily  that  he  spilled  the  greater  part  of  it.  For  a  mo- 
ment his  eyes  met  mine,  then  looked  down  again. 

"How  do  you  believe  she  died  ?"  he  inquired,  in  tones  so 
low  that  I  could  barely  hear  them. 

"  By  the  hand  of  a  poisoner,"  I  answered. 

He  made  a  movement  as  if  he  were  about  to  start  up  in  the 
chair,  and  sank  back  again,  seized,  apparently,  with  a  sudden 
faintness. 

"  Not  my  husband  !"  I  hastened  to  add.  "  You  know  that 
I  am  satisfied  of  his  innocence." 

I  saw  him  shudder.  I  saw  his  hands  fasten  their  hold 
convulsively  on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"  W'ho  poisoned  her  ?"  he  asked,  still  lying  helplessly  back 
in  the  chair. 

At  the  critical  moment  my  courage  failed  me.  I  was 
afraid  to  tell  him  in  what  direction  rny  suspicions  pointed. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?"  I  said. 

There  was  a  pause.  I  supposed  him  to  be  secretly  follow- 
ing his  own  train  of  thought.  It  was  not.  for  long.  On  a  sud- 
den he  started  up  in  his  chair.  The  prostration  which  had 
possessed  him  appeared  to  vanish  in  an  instant.  His  eyes 
recovered  their  wild  light ;  his  hands  were  steady  again  ;  his 
color  was  brighter  than  ever.  Had  he  been  pondering  over 
the  secret  of  my  interest  in  Mrs.  Beauly  ?  and  had  he  guess- 
ed? He  had! 

"  Answer  on  your  word  of  honor  !"  he  cried.  "  Don't  at- 
tempt to  deceive  me  !  Is  it  a  woman  ?" 

"  It  is." 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  221 

"  What  is  the  first  letter  of  her  name  ?  Is  it  one  of  the 
first  three  letters  of  the  alphabet  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  B  ?" 

"  Yes." 

«  Beauly  ?" 

"  Beauly." 

He  threw  his  hands  up  above  his  head,  and  burst  into  a 
frantic  fit  of  laughter. 

"  I  have  lived  long  enough  !"  he  broke  out,  wildly.  "  At 
last  I  have  discovered  one  other  person  in  the  world  who 
sees  it  as  plainly  as  I  do.  Cruel  Mrs.  Valeria  !  why  did  you 
torture  me  ?  Why  didn't  you  own  it  before  ?" 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  catching  the  infection  of  his  excite- 
ment.. "Are  your  ideas  my  ideas?  Is  it  possible  that  you 
suspect  Mrs.  Beauly  too  ?" 

He  made  this  remarkable  reply : 

"  Suspect  ?"  he  repeated,  contemptuously.  "  There  isn't 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  about  it.  Mrs.  Beauly  poisoned  her." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  INDICTMENT   OF   MRS.  BEAULY. 

I  STARTED  to  my  feet,  and  looked  at  Miserriraus  Dexter. 
I  was  too  much  agitated  to  be  able  to  speak  to  him. 

My  utmost  expectations  had  not  prepared  me  for  the  tone 
of  absolute  conviction  in  which  he  had  spoken.  At  the  best, 
I  had  anticipated  that  he  might,  by  the  barest  chance,  agree 
with  me  in  suspecting  Mrs.  Beauly.  And  now  his  own  lips 
had  said  it,  without  hesitation  or  reserve !  "There  isn't  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt :  Mrs.  Beauly  poisoned  her." 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  quietly.  "There's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of.  Nobody  can  hear  us  in  this  room." 

I  sat  down  again,  and  recovered  myself  a  little. 

"  Have  you  never  told  any  one  else  what  you  have  just 
told  me  ?"  was  the  first  question  that  I  put  to  him. 

"  Never.     No  one  else  suspected  her." 

"  Not  even  the  lawyers  ?" 

"  Not  even  the  lawyers.  There  is  no  legal  evidence  against 
Mrs.  Beauly.  There  is  nothing  but  moral  certainty." 


222  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Surely  you  might  have  found  the  evidence,  if  you  had 
tried?" 

He  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"Look  at  me  !"  he  said.  "How  is  a  man  to  hunt  up  evi- 
dence who  is  tied  to  this  chair  ?  Besides,  there  were  other 
difficulties  in  my  way.  I  am  not  generally  in  the  habit  of 
needlessly  betraying  myself — I  am  a  cautious  man,  though 
you  may  not  have  noticed  it.  But  my  immeasurable  hatred 
of  Mrs.  Beauly  was  not  to  be  concealed.  If  eyes  can  tell 
secrets,  she  must  have  discovered,  in  my  eyes,  that  I  hungered 
and  thirsted  to  see  her  in  the  hangman's  hands.  From  first 
to  last,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Borgia-Beauly  was  on  her  guard 
against  me.  Can  I  describe  her  cunning  ?  All  my  resources 
of  language  are  not  equal  to  the  task.  Take  the  degrees  of 
comparison  to  give  you  a  faint  idea  of  it :  I  am  positively 
cunning;  the  devil  is  comparatively  canning;  Mrs.  Beauly 
is  superlatively  cunning.  No  !  no  !  If  she  is  ever  discov- 
ered, at  this  distance  of  time,  it  will  not  be  done  by  a  man — 
it  will  be  done  by  a  woman :  a  woman  whom  she  doesn't 
suspect ;  a  woman  who  can  watch  her  with  the  patience  of 
a  tigress  in  a  state  of  starvation — " 

"  Say  a  woman  like  Me  !"  I  broke  out.  "  I  am  ready  to 
try." 

His  eyes  glittered ;  his  teeth  showed  themselves  viciously 
under  his  mustache;  he  drummed  llercely  with  both  hands 
on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Put  me  in  your  position,"  I  answered.  "Enlighten  me 
with  your  moral  certainty  (as  you  call  it) — and  you  shall 
see !" 

"  I'll  do  it !"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  one  thing  first.  How  did 
an  outside  stranger,  like  you,  come  to  suspect  her?" 

I  set  before  him,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  the  various  ele- 
ments of  suspicion  which  I  had  collected  from  the  evidence 
at  the  Trial ;  and  I  laid  especial  stress  on  the  fact  (sworn  to 
by  the  nurse)  that  Mrs.  Beauly  was  missing  exactly  at  the 
time  when  Christina  Ormsay  had  left  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan 
alone  in  her  room. 

"You  have  hit  it!"  cried  Miserrimus  Dexter.  "You  are 
a  wonderful  woman !  What  was  she  doing  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  when  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  died  poisoned  ? 
And  where  was  she  during  the  dark  hours  of  the  night  ? 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  223 

I  can  tell  you  where  she  was  not — she  was  not  in  her  own 
room." 

"  Not  in  her  own  room  ?"  I  repeated.  "  Are  you  really 
sure  of  that  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  every  thing  that  I  say,  when  I  am  speaking 
of  Mrs.  Beauly.  Mind  that :  and  now  listen  !  This  is  a 
drama;  and  I  excel  in  dramatic  narrative.  You  shall  judge 
for  yourself.  Date,  the  twentieth  of  October.  Scene,  the 
Corridor,  called  the  Guests'  Corridor,  at  Gleninch.  On  one 
side,  a  row  of  windows  looking  out  into  the  garden.  On  the 
other,  a  row  of  four  bedrooms,  with  dressing-rooms  attached. 
First  bedroom  (beginning  from  the  staircase),  occupied  by 
Mrs.  Beauly.  Second  bedroom,  empty.  Third  bedroom,  oc- 
cupied by  Miserrimus  Dexter.  Fourth  bedroom,  empty. 
So  much  for  the  Scene !  The  time  comes  next — the  time  is 
eleven  at  night.  Dexter  discovered  in  his  bedroom,  reading. 
Enter  to  him  Eustace  Macallan.  Eustace  speaks  :  '  My  dear 
fellow,  be  particularly  careful  not  to  make  any  noise;  don't 
bowl  your  chair  up  and  down  the  corridor  to-night.'  Dex- 
ter inquires,  *  Why  ?'  Eustace  answers:  '  Mrs.  Beauly  has 
been  dining  with  some  friends  in  Edinburgh,  and  has  come 
back  terribly  fatigued  :  she  has  gone  up  to  her  room  to  rest.' 
Dexter  makes  another  inquiry  (satirical  inquiry,  this  time) : 
'  How  does  she  look  when  she  is  terribly  fatigued  ?  As 
beautiful  as  ever  ?'  Answer :  '  I  don't  know ;  I  have  not 
seen  hor;  she  slipped  up-stairs,.  without  speaking  to  any 
body.'  Third  inquiry  by  Dexter  (logical  inquiry,  on  this 
occasion) :  'If  she  spoke  to  nobody,  how  do  you  know  she  is 
fatigued  ?'  Eustace  hands  Dexter  a  morsel  of  paper,  and  an- 
swers: 'Don't  be  a  fool !  I  found  this  on  the  hall  table.  He- 
member  what  I  have  told  you  about  keeping  quiet;  good- 
night!' Eustace  retires.  Dexter  looks  at  the  paper,  and 
reads  these  lines  in  pencil:  'Just  returned.  Please  forgive 
me  for  going  to  bed  without  saying  good-night.  I  have 
overexerted  myself;  I  am  dreadfully  fatigued.  (Signed) 
Helena.'  Dexter  is  by  nature  suspicious.  Dexter  suspects 
Mrs.  Beauly.  Never  mind  his  reasons ;  there  is  no  time  to 
enter  into  his  reasons  now.  He  puts  the  case  to  himself  thus  : 
'  A  weary  woman  would  never  have  given  herself  the  trouble 
to  write  this.  She  would  have  found  it  much  less  fatiguing 
to  knock  at  the  drawing-room  door  as  she  passed,  and  to  make 
her  apologies  by  word  of  mouth.  I  see  something  here  out 


224  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

of  the  ordinary  way ;  I  shall  make  a  night  of  it  in  my  chair.' 
Very  good.  Dexter  proceeds  to  make  a  night  of  it.  He 
opens  his  door;  wheels  himself  softly  into  the  corridor;  locks 
the  doors  of  the  two  empty  bedrooms,  and  returns  (with  the 
keys- in  his  pocket)  to  his  own  room.  'Now,'  says  D.  to 
himself, '  if  I  hear  a  door  softly  opened  in  this  part  of  the 
house,  I  shall  know  for  certain  it  is  Mrs.  Beauly's  door !' 
Upon  that  he  closes  his  own  door,  leaving  the  tiniest  little 
chink  to  look  through ;  puts  out  his  light ;  and  waits  and 
watches  at  his  tiny  little  chink,  like  a  cat  at  a  mouse-hole. 
The  corridor  is  the  only  place  he  wants  to  see ;  and  a  lamp 
burns  there  all  night.  Twelve  o'clock  strikes ;  he  hears  the 
doors  below  bolted  and  locked,  and  nothing  happens.  Half- 
past  twelve — and  nothing  still.  The  house  is  as  silent  as 
the  grave.  One  o'clock;  two  o'clock — same  silence.  Half- 
past  two — and  something  happens  at  last.  Dexter  hears  a 
sound  close  by,  in  the  corridor.  It  is  the  sound  of  a  handle 
turning  very  softly  in  a  door — in  the  only  door  that  can  be 
opened,  the  door  of  Mrs.  Beauly's  room.  Dexter  drops  noise- 
lessly from  his  chair  onto  his  hands ;  lies  flat  on  the  floor  at 
his  chink,  and  listens.  He  hears  the  handle  closed  again ; 
he  sees  a  dark  object  flit  by  him;  he  pops  his  head  out  of 
his  door,  down  on  the  floor  where  nobody  would  think  of 
looking  for  him.  And  what  does  he  see  ?  Mrs.  Beauly ! 
There  she  goes,  with  the  long  brown  cloak  over  her  shoul- 
ders, which  she  wears  when  she  is  driving,  floating  behind  her. 
In  a  moment  more  she  disappears,  past  the  fourth  bedroom, 
and  turns  at  a  right  angle,  into  a  second  corridor,  called  the 
South  Corridor.  What  rooms  are  in  the  South  Corridor? 
There  are  three  rooms.  First  room,  the  little  study,  men- 
tioned in  the  nurse's  evidence.  Second  room,  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan's  bedchamber.  Third  room,  her  husband's  bed- 
chamber. What  does  Mrs.  Beauly  (supposed  to  be  worn  out 
by  fatigue)  want  in  that  part  of  the  house  at  half-past  two 
in  the  morning  ?  Dexter  decides  on  running  the  risk  of  be- 
ing seen — and  sets  off  on  a  voyage  of  discoveiy.  Do  you 
know  how  he  gets  from  place  to  place  without  his  chair? 
Have  you  seen  the  poor  deformed  creature  hop  on  his  hands  ? 
Shall  he  show  you  how  he  does  it,  before  he  goes  on  with 
his  story  ?" 

I  hastened  to  stop  the  proposed  exhibition. 

"  I  saw  you  hop  last  night,"  I  said.  "  Go  on  ! — pray  go  on 
with  your  story !" 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  225 


"Do  you  like  my  dramatic  style  of  narrative  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Am  I  interesting  '?" 

"  Indescribably  interesting,  Mr.  Dexter.  I  am  eager  to 
hear  more." 

He  smiled  in  high  approval  of  his  own  abilities. 

"I  am  equally  good  at  the  autobiographical  style,"  he 
said.  "  Shall  we  try  that  next,  by  way  of  variety  ?" 

"Any  tiling  you  like,"  I  cried,  losing  all  patience  with 
him,  "  if  you  will  only  go  on  !" 

"  Part  Two  ;  Autobiographical  Style,"  he  announced,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand.  "I  hopped  along  the  Guests'  Corridor, 
and  turned  into  the  South  Corridor.  I  stopped  at  the  little 
study.  Door  open;  nobody  there.  I  crossed  the  study  to 
the  second  door,  communicating  with  Mrs.  Macallan's  bed- 
chamber. Locked  !  I  looked  through  the  keyhole.  Was 
there  something  hanging  over  it,  on  the  other  side  ?  I  can't 
say  —  I  only  know  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  blank 
darkness.  I  listened.  Nothing  to  be  heard.  Same  blank 
darkness,  same  absolute  silence,  inside  the  locked  second  door 
of  Mrs.  Eustace's  room,  opening  on  the  corridor.  I  went 
on  to  her  husband's  bedchamber.  I  had  the  worst  possible 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Beauly  —  I  should  not  have  been  in  the  least 
surprised  if  I  had  caught  her  in  Eustace's  room.  I  looked 
through  the  keyhole.  In  this  case,  the  key  was  out  of  it  — 
or  was  turned  the  right  way  for  me  —  I  don't  know  which. 
Eustace's  bed  was  opposite  the  door.  No  discovery.  I  could 
sec  him,  all  by  himself,  innocently  asleep.  I  reflected  a  little. 
The  back  staircase  was  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  beyond 
me.  I  slid  down  the  stairs,  and  looked  about  me  on  the 
lower  floor,  by  the  light  of  the  night-lamp.  Doors  all  fast 
locked,  a,nd  keys  outside,  so  that  I  could  try  them  myself. 
House  door  barred  and  bolted.  Door  leading  into  the  serv- 
ants' offices  barred  and  bolted.  I  got  back  to  my  own  room, 
and  thought  it  out  quietly.  "Where  could  she  be  ?  Certainly 
in  the  house,  somewhere.  Where?  I  had  made  sure  of  the 
other  rooms  ;  the  field  of  search  was  exhausted.  She  could 
only  be  in  Mrs.  Macallan's  room  —  the  one  room  which  had 
baffled  my  investigations  ;  the  only  room  which  had  not  lent 
itself  to  examination.  Add  to  this  that  the  key  of  the  door 
in  the  study,  communicating  with  Mrs.  Macallan's  room,  \vas 
stated  in  the  nurse's  evidence  to  be  missing;  and  don't  forget 
that  the  dearest  object  of  Mrs.  lieauly's  life  (on  the  showing 


226  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

of  her  own  letter,  read  at  the  Trial)  was  to  be  Eustace  Macal- 
lan's happy  wife.  Put  these  things  together  in  your  'own 
mind,  and  you  will  know  what  my  thoughts  were,  as  I  sat 
waiting  for  events  in  my  chair,  without  my  telling  you. 
Toward  four  o'clock,  strong  as  I  am,  fatigue  got  the  better 
of  me.  I  fell  asleep.  Not  for  long.  I  awoke  with  a  start 
and  looked  at  my  watch.  Twenty-five  minutes  past  four. 
Had  she  got  back  to  her  room  while  I  was  asleep  ?  I  hopped 
to  her  door  and  listened.  Not  a  sound.  I  softly  opened 
the  door.  The  room  wafe  empty,  I  went  back  again  to  rny 
own  room  to  wait  and  watch.  It  was  hard  work  to  keep  my 
eyes  open.  I  drew  up  the  window  to  let  the  cool  air  refresh 
me;  I  fought  hard  with  exhausted  nature,  and  exhausted 
nature  won.  I  fell  asleep  again.  This  time  it  was  eight  in 
the  morning  when  I  awoke.  I  have  goodish  ears,  as  you  may 
have  noticed.  I  heard  women's  voices  talking  under  my 
open  window.  I  peeped  out.  Mrs.  Beauly  and  her  maid  in 
close  confabulation  !  Mrs.  Beauly  and  'her  maid  looking 
guiltily  about  them  to  make  sure  that  they  were  neither 
seen  nor  heard !  'Take  care,  ma'am,'  I  heard  the  maid  say; 
'  that  horrid  deformed  monster  is  as  sly  as  a  fox.  Mind  he 
doesn't  discover  you.'  Mrs.  Beauly  answered, '  You  go  first, 
and  look  out  in  front ;  I  will  follow  you,  and  make  sure 
there  is  nobody  behind  us.'  With  that  they  disappeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  In  five  minutes  more  I  heard 
the  door  of  Mrs.  Beauly's  room  softly  opened  and  closed 
again.  Three  hours  later  the  nurse  met  her  in  the  corridor, 
innocently  on  her  way  to  make  inquiries  at  Mrs.  Eustace 
Macallan's  door.  What  do  you  think  of  these  circumstances? 
What  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Beauly  and  her  maid  having  some- 
thing to  say  to  each  other,  which  they  didn't  dare  say  in  the 
house — for  fear  of  my  being  behind  some  door  listening  to 
them  ?  What  do  you  think  of  these  discoveries  of  mine  be- 
ing made  on  the  very  morning  when  Mrs.  Eustace  was  taken 
ill — on  the  very  day  when  she  died  by  a  poisoner's  hand  ? 
Do  you  see  your  way  to  the  guilty  person  ?  And  has  mad 
Miserrimus  Dexter  been  of  some  assistance  to  you,  so  far  ?" 

I  was  too  violently  excited  to  answer .him.  The  way  to 
the  vindication  of  my  husband's  innocence  was  opened  to 
me  at  last ! 

"Where  is  she?"  I  cried.  "And  where  is  that  servant 
who  is  in  her  confidence  ?" 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  227 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said.     "  I  don't  know." 

"  Where  can  I  inquire  ?     Can  you  tell  me  that  ?" 

He  considered  a  little. 

"There  is  one  man  who  must  know  where  she  is — or  who 
could  find  it  out  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  Who  is  he  ?     What  is  his  name  ?" 

"He  is  a  friend  of  Eustace's.     Major  Fitz-David." 

"I  know  him!  I  am  going  to  dine  with  him  next  week. 
He  has  asked  you  to  dine  too.'? 

Miserrimus  Dexter  laughed  contemptuously. 

"Major  Fitz-David  may  do  very  well  for  the  ladies,"  he 
said.  "The  ladies  can  treat  him  as  a  species  of  elderly  hu- 
man lap-dog.  I  don't  dine  with  lap-dogs ;  I  have  said,  No. 
You  go.  He  or  some  of  his  ladies  may  be  of  use  to  you. 
Who  are  the  guests  ?  Did  he  tell  you  ?" 

"  There  was  a  French  lady  whose  name  I  forget,"  I  said, 
"and  Lady  Clarinda — " 

"  That  will  do  !  -  She  is  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Beauly's.  She  is 
sure  to  know  where  Mrs.  Beauly  is.  Come  to  me  the  mo- 
ment you  have  got  your  information.  Find  out  if  the  maid 
is  with  her:  she  is  the  easiest  to  deal  with  of  the  two.  Only 
make  the  maid  open  her  lips,  and  we  have  got  Mrs.  Beauly. 
We  crush  her,"  he  cried,  bringing  -his  hand  down  like  light- 
ning on  the  last  languid  fly  of  the  season,  crawling  over  the 
arm  of  his  chair — "  we  crush  her  as  I  crush  this  fly.  Stop ! 
A  question — a  most  important  question  in  dealing  with  the 
maid.  Have  you  got  any  money  ?" 

"Plenty  of  money." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  joyously. 

"The  maid  is  ours  !"  he  cried.  "It's  a  matter  of  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence  with  the  maid.  Wait !  Another  ques- 
tion. About  your  name  ?  If  you  approach  Mrs.  Beauly  in 
your  own  character  as  Eustace's  wife,  you  approach  her  as 
the  woman  who  has  taken  her  place — you  make  a  mortal 
enemy  of  her  at  starting.  Beware  of  that !" 

My  jealousy  of  Mrs.  Beauly,  smouldering  in  me  all  through 
the  interview,  burst  into  flames  at  those  words.  I  could  re- 
sist it  no  longer — I  was  obliged  to  ask  him  if  my  husband 
had  ever  loved  her. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,"  I  said.     "  Did  Eustace  really—  ?" 

He  burst  out  laughing  maliciously,  he  penetrated  my  jeal- 
ousy, and  guessed  my  question  almost  before  it  had  passed 
my  lips. 


228  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Eustace  did  really  love  her — and  no  mis- 
take about  it.  She  had  every  reason  to  believe  (before  the 
Trial)  that  the  wife's  death  would  put  her  in  the  wife's  place. 
But  the  Trial  made  another  man  of  Eustace.  Mrs.  Beauly 
had  been  a  witness  of  the  public  degradation  of  him.  That 
was  enough  to  prevent  his  marrying  Mrs.  Beauly.  He  broke 
off  with  her  at  once  and  forever — for  the  same  reason  pre- 
cisely which  has  led  him  to  separate  himself  from  you.  Ex- 
istence with  a  woman  who  knew  that  he  had  been  tried  for 
his  life  as  a  murderer  was  an  existence  that  he  was  not  hero 
enough  to  face.  You  wanted  the  truth.  There  it  is !  You 
have  need  to  be  cautious  of  Mrs.  Beauly — you  have  no  need 
to  be  jealous  of  her.  Take  the  safe  course.  Arrange  with 
the  Major,  when  you  meet  Lady  Clarinda  at  his  dinner,  that 
you  meet  her  uifder  an  assumed  name." 

"  I  can  go  to  the  dinner,"  I  said,  "  under  the  name  in  which 
Eustace  married  me.  I  can  go  as  'Mrs.Woodville.'" 

"The  very  thing!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  would  I  not 
give  to  be  present  when  Lady  Clarinda  inti'oduces  you  to 
Mrs.  Beauly  !  Think  of  the  situation.  A  woman  with  a  hid- 
eous secret  hidden  in  her  inmost  soul :  and  another  woman 
who  knows  of  it — another  woman  who  is  bent,  by  fair  means 
or  foul,  on  dragging  that  secret  into  the  light  of  day.  What 
a  struggle  !  Whart  a  plot  for  a  novel !  I  am  in  a  fever  when 
I  think  of  it.  I  am  beside  myself  when  I  look  into  the  fut- 
ure, and  see  Mrs.  Borgia-Beauly  brought  to  her  knees  at  last. 
Don't  be  alarmed !"  he  cried,  with  the  wild  light  flashing 
once  more  in  his  eyes.  "My  brains  are  beginning  to  boil 
again  in  my  head.  I  must  take  refuge  in  physical  exercise. 
I  must  blow  off  the  steam,  or  I  shall  explode  in  my  pink 
jacket  on  the  spot !" 

The  old  madness  seized  on  him  again.  I  made  for  the 
door,  to  secure  my  retreat  in  case  of  necessity — and  then 
ventured  to  look  around  at  him. 

He  was  off  on  his  furious  wheels — half  man,  half  chair — 
flying  like  a  whirlwind  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Even 
this  exercise  was  not  violent  enough  for  him  in  his  present 
mood.  In  an  instant  he  was  down  on  the  floor,  poised  on 
his  hands,  and  looking  in  the  distance  like  a  monstrous  frog. 
Hopping  down  the  room,  he  overthrew,  one  after  another, 
all  the  smaller  and  lighter  chairs  as  he  passed  them.  Arrived 
at  the  end,  he  turned,  surveyed  the  prostrate  chairs,  encour- 


TOE    LAW    AXJ)    THE    LADY.  229 


aged  himself  with  a  scream  of  triumph,  and  leaped  rapidly 
over  chair  after  chair  on  his  hands  —  his  limbless  body  now 
thrown  back  from  the  shoulders,  and  now  thrown  forward  to 
keep  the  balance  —  in  a  manner  at  once^-wonderful  and  horri- 
ble to  behold.  ]"^{  Dexter's  Leap-frog  !'^_W  cried,  cheerfully, 
perching  himaeuwith  his  bird-like  lightness  on  the  last  of 
the  prostrate  chairs  when  he  had  reached  the  farther  end  of 
the  room.  (^I'm  pretty  active,  Mrs.  Valeria,  considering  I'm 
a  cripple.  Let  us  drink  to  th£  hanging  of  Mrs.  Beauly  in 
another  bottle  of  Burgundy  !"  ~~\ 

I  seized  desperately  on  the  first  excuse  that  occurred  to  me 
for  getting  away  from  him. 

"You  forget,"  I  said  —  "I  must  go  at  once  to  the  Major. 
If  I  don't  warn  him  in  time,  he  may  speak  of  me  to  Lady 
Clarinda  by  the  wrong  name." 

Ideas  of  hurry  and  movement  were  just  the  ideas  to  take 
his  fancy  in  his  present  state.  He  blew  furiously  on  the 
whistle  that  summoned  Ariel  from  the  kitchen  regions,  and 
danced  up  and  down  on  his  hands  in  the  full  frenzy  of  his 
delight. 

"Ariel  shall  get  you  a  cab!"  he  cried.  "Drive  at  a  gal- 
lop to  the  Major's.  Set  the  trap  for  her  without  losing  a 
moment.  Oh,  what  a  day  of  days  this  has  been  !  Oh,  what 
a  relief  to  get  rid  of  my  dreadful  secret,  and  share  it  with 
You  !  I  am  suffocating  with  happiness  —  I  am  like  the  Spir- 
it of  the  Earth  in  Shelley's  poem."  He  broke  out  with  the 
magnificent  lines  in  "  Prometheus  Unbound,"  in  which  the 
Earth  feels  the  Spirit  of  Love,  and  bursts  into  speech.  "  '  The 
joy,  the  triumph,  the  delight,  the  madness  !  the  boundless, 
overflowing,  bursting  gladness!  the  vaporous  exultation  not 
to  be  confined  !  Ha  !  ha  !  the  animation  of  delight,  which 
wraps  me  like  an  atmosphere  of  light,  and  bears  me  as  a 
cloud  is  borne  by  its  own  wind.'  That's  how  I  feel,  Valeria  ! 
—that's  how  I  feel  !" 

I  crossed  the  threshold  while  he  was  still  speaking.  The 
last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  pouring  out  that  glorious  flood 
of  words  —  his  deformed  body,  poised  on  the  overthrown 
chair,  his  face  lifted  in  rapture  to  some  fantastic  heaven 
of  his  own  making.  I  slipped  out  softly  into  the  ante- 
chamber. Even  as  I  crossed  the  room,  he  changed  once 
more.  I  heard  his  ringing  cry  ;  I  heard  the  soft  thump- 
thump  of  his  hands  on  the  floor.  He  was  going  down  the 


230  THE   LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

room  again,  in  "Dexter's  Leap-frog,"  flying  over  the  pros- 
trate chairs. 

In  the  hall,  Ariel  was  on  the  watch  for  me. 

As  I  approached  her,  I  happened  to  be  putting  on  my 
gloves.  She  stopped  me ;  and,  taking  my  right  arm,  lifted 
my  hand  toward  her  face.  Was  she  going  to  kiss  it  ?  or  to 
bite  it  ?  Neither.  She  smelt  it  like  a  dog — and  dropped  it 
again  with  a  hoarse  chuckling  laugh. 

"  You  don't  smell  of  his  perfumes,"  she  said.  "You  haven?  t 
touched  his  beard.  JVbiv  I  believe  you.  Want  a  cab  ?" 

"  Thank  you.     I'll  walk  till  I  meet  a  cab." 

She  was  bent  on  being  polite  to  me  —  now  I  had  not 
touched  his  beard. 

"  I  say  !"  she  burst  out,  in  her  deepest  notes. 

"Yes?" 

"  I'm  glad  I  didn't  upset  you  in  the  canal.     There  now !" 

She  gave  me  a  friendly  smack  on  the  shoulder  which  near- 
ly knocked  me  down — relapsed,  the  instant  after,  into  her 
leaden  stolidity  of  look  and  manner — and  led  the  way  out 
by  the  front  door.  I  heard  her  hoarse  chuckling  laugh  as 
she  locked  the  gate  behind  me.  My  star  was  at  last  in  the 
ascendant !  In  one  and  the  same  day  I  had  found  my  way 
into  the  confidence  of  Ariel  and  Ariel's  master. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    DEFENSE    OF   MRS.  BEAULY. 

THE  days  that  elapsed  before  Major  Fitz-David's  dinner- 
party were  pi-ecious  days  to  me. 

My  long  interview  with  Miserrimus  Dexter  had  disturbed 
me  far  more  seriously  than  I  suspected  at  the  time.  It  was 
not  until  some  hours  after  I  had  left  him  that  I  really  began 
to  feel  how  my  nerves  had  been  tried  by  all  that  I  had  seen 
and  heard  during  my  visit  at  his  house.  I  started  at  the 
slightest  noises ;  I  dreamed  of  dreadful  things ;  I  was  ready 
to  cry  without  reason  at  one  moment,  and  to  fly  into  a  pas- 
sion without  reason,  at  another.  Absolute  rest  was  what  I 
wanted,  and  (thanks  to  my  good  Benjamin)  was  what  I  got. 
The  dear  old  man  controlled  his  anxieties  on  my  account, 
and  spared  me  the  questions  which  his  fatherly  interest  in 


THE   LAW   AXD   THE    LADY.  231 

my  welfare  made  him  eager  to  ask.  It  was  tacitly  understood 
between  us  that  all  conversation  on  the  subject  of  my  visit 
to  Miserrimus  Dexter  (of  which,  it  is  needless  to  say,  he 
strongly  disapproved)  should  be  deferred  until  repose  had 
restored  my  energies  of  body  and  mind.  I  saw  no  visitors. 
Mrs.  Macallan  came  to  the  cottage,  and  Major  Fitz-David 
came  to  the  cottage— one  of  them  to  hear  what  had  passed 
between  Miserrimus  Dexter  and  myself,  the  other  to  amuse 
me  with  the  latest  gossip  about  the  guests  at  the  forthcom- 
ing dinner.  Benjamin  took  it  on  himself  to  make  my  apol- 
ogies, and  to  spare  me  the  exertion  of  receiving  my  visitors. 
We  hired  a  little  open  carriage,  and  took  long  drives  in  the 
pretty  country  lanes  still  left  flourishing  within  a  few  miles 
of  the  northern  suburb  of  London.  At  home  we  sat  and 
talked  quietly  of  old  times,  or  played  at  backgammon  and 
dominoes — and  so,  for  a  few  happy  days,  led  the  peaceful 
tiTiacl venturous  life  which  was  good  for  me.  When  the  day 
of  the  dinner  arrived,  I  felt  restored  to  my  customary  health. 
I  was  ready  again,  and  eager  again,  for  the  introduction  to 
Lady  Clarinda  and  the  discovery  of  Mrs.  Beauly. 

Benjamin  looked  a  little  sadly  at  my  flushed  face  as  we 
drove  to  Major  Fitz-David's  house. 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  he  said,  in  his  simple  way,  "I  see  you  are 
well  again  !  You  have  had  enough  of  our  quiet  life  already." 

My  recollection  of  events  and  persons,  in  general,  at  the 
dinner-party,  is  singularly  indistinct.  I  remember  that  we 
were  very  merry,  and  as  easy  and  familiar  with  one  another 
as  if  we  had  been  old  friends.  I  remember  that  Madame 
Mirliflore  was  unapproachably  superior  to  the  other  women 
present,  in  the  perfect  beauty  of  her  dress,  and  in  the  ample 
justice  which  she  did  to  the  luxurious  dinner  set  before  us. 
I  remember  the  Major's  young  prima  donna,  more  round- 
eyed,  more  overdressed,  more  shrill  and  strident  as  the  com- 
ing "Queen  of  Song,"  than  ever.  I  remember  the  Major 
himself,  always  kissing  our  hands,  always  luring  us  to  in- 
dulge in  dainty  dishes  and  drinks,  always  making  love,  al- 
ways detecting  resemblances  between  us,  always  "  under  the 
charm,"  and  never  once  out  of  his  character  as  elderly  Don 
Juan  from  the  beginning  of  the  evening  to  the  end.  I  re- 
member dear  old  Benjamin,  completely  bewildered,  shrinking 
into  corners,  blushing  when  lie  was  personally  drawn  into  the 
conversation,  frightened  at  Madame  Mirliflore,  bashful  with 


232  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 


Lady  Clarinda,  submissive  to  the  Major,  suffering  under  the 
music,  and  from  the  bottom  of  his  honest  old  heart  wishing 
himself  home  again.  And  there,  as  to  the  members  of  that 
cheerful  little  gathering,  my  memory  finds  its  limits  —  with 
one  exception.  The  appearance  of  Lady  Clarinda  is  as  pres- 
ent to  me  as  if  I  had  met  her  yesterday  ;  and  of  the  memor- 
able conversation  which  we  two  held  together  privately, 
toward  the  close  of  the  evening,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say 
that  I  can  still  call  to  mind  almost  every  word. 
|^I  see  her  dress,  I  hear  her  voice  again,  while  I  write. 

She  was  attired,  I  remember,  with  that  extreme  assumption 
_  s^of  simplicity  which  always  defeats  its  own  end  by  irresisti- 
bly suggesting  art.  She  wore  plain  white  muslin,  over  white 
silk,  without  trimming  or  ornament  of  any  kind.  Her  rich 
brown  hair,  dressed  in  defiance  of  the  prevailing  fashion,  was 
thrown  back  from  her  forehead,  and  gathered  into  a  simple 
knot  behind  —  without  adornment  of  any  sort.  A  little  white 
ribbon  encircled  her  neck,  fastened  by  the  only  article  of  jew- 
elry that  she  wore  —  a  tiny  diamond  brooch.  She  was  un- 
questionably handsome  ;  but  her  beauty  was  of  the  some- 
what  hm-djyirLaagailarJ^q^which  is  so  often  seen  in  English 
women  of  her  race  :  the  nose  and  chin  too  prominent  and  too 
firmly  shaped;  the  well-opened  gray  eyes  full  of  spirit  and 
dignity,  but  wanting  in  tenderness  and  mobility  of  expres- 
sion. Her  manner  had  all  the  charm  which  fine  breeding 
can  confer  —  exquisitely  polite,  easily  cordial  ;  showing  that 
perfect  yet  unobtrusive  confidence  in  herself  which  (in  En- 
gland) seems  to  be  the  natural  outgrowth  of  pre-eminent  so- 
cial rank.  If  you  had  accepted  her  for  what  she  was,  on  the 
surface,  you  would  have  said,  Here  is  the  model  of  a  noble 
woman  who  is  perfectly  free  from  pride.  And  if  you  had 
taken  a  liberty  with  her,  on  the  strength  of  that  conviction, 
she  would  have  made  you  remember  it  to  the  end  of  your  life. 

We  got  on  together  admirably.  I  was  introduced  as 
"Mrs.  Woodville,"  by  pi-evious  arrangement  with  the  Major 
—  effected  through  Benjamin.  Before  the  dinner  was  over 
we  had  promised  to  exchange  visits.  Nothing  but  the  op- 
portunity was  wanting  to  lead  Lady  Clarinda  into  talking, 
as  I  wanted  her  to  talk,  of  Mrs.  Beauly. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  opportunity  came. 

I  had  taken  refuge  from  the  terrible  bravura  singing  of 
the  Major's  strident  prima  donna  in  the  back  drawing-room. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  233 

As  I  had  hoped  and  anticipated,  after  a  while  Lady  Clarinda 
(missing  me  from  the  group  around  the  piano)  came  in  search 
of  me.  She  seated  herself  by  my  side,  out  of  sight  and  out 
of  hearing  of  our  friends  in  the  front  room ;  and,  to  my  infi- 
nite relief  and  delight,  touched  on  the  subject  of  Miserrimus 
Dexter  of  her  own  accord.  Something  I  had  said  of  him, 
when  his  name  had  been  accidentally  mentioned  at  dinner, 
remained  in  her  memory,  and  led"  us,  by  perfectly  natu- 
ral gradations,  into  speaking  of  Mrs.  Beau ly.  "At  last,"  I 
thought  to  myself,  "  the  Major's  little  dinner  will  bring  me 
my  reward  !" 

And  what  a  reward  it  was,  when  it  came  !  My  heart  sinks 
in  me  again — as  it  sank  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  even- 
ing— while  I  sit  at  my  desk  thinking  of  it. 

"So  Dexter  really  spoke  to  you  of  Mrs.  Beauly !"  ex- 
claimed Lady  Clarinda.  "You  have  no  idea  how  you  sur- 
prise me." 

"May  Task  why?" 

"He  hates  her  !  The  last  time  I  saw  him  he  wouldn't  al- 
low me  to  mention  her  name.  It  is  one  of  his  innumerable 
oddities.  If  any  such  feeling  as  sympathy  is  a  possible  feel- 
ing in  such  a  nature  as  his,  he  ought  to  like  Helena  Beauly. 
She  is  the  most  completely  unconventional  person  I  know. 
When  she  does  break  out,  poor  dear,  she  says  things  and 
does  things  which  are  almost  reckless  enough  to  be  worthy 
of  Dexter  himself.  I  wonder  whether  you  would  like  her?" 

"You  have  kindly  asked  me  to  visit  you,  Lady  Clarinda. 
Perhaps  I  may  meet  her  at  your  house  ?" 

"I  hope  you  will  not  wait  until  that  is  likely  to  happen," 
she  said.  "  Helena's  last  whim  is  to  fancy  that  she  has  got 
— the  gout,  of  all  the  maladies  in  the  world  !  She  is  away 
at  some  wonderful  baths  in  Hungary  or  Bohemia  (I  don't 
remember  which) — and  where  she  will  go,  or  what  she  will 
do  next,  it  is  perfectly  impossible  to  say. — Dear  Mrs.  Wood- 
ville!  is  the  heat  of  the  fire  too  much  for  you?  You  are 
looking  quite  pale." 

I  felt  that  I  was  looking  pale.  The  discovery  of  Mrs. 
Beauly's  absence  from  England  was  a  shock  for  which  I  was 
quite  unprepared.  For  a  moment  it  unnerved  me. 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  other  room?"  asked  Lady  Clarinda. 

To  go  into  the  other  room  would  be  to  drop  the  conversa- 
L 


234  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

tion.  I  was  determined  not  to  let  that  catastrophe  happen. 
It  was  just  possible  that  Mrs.  Beauly's  maid  might  have 
quitted  her  service,  or  might  have  been  left  behind  in  En- 
gland. My  information  would  not  be  complete  until  I  knew 
what  had  become  of  the  maid.  I  pushed  my  chair  back  a 
little  from  the  fire-place,  and  took  a  hand-screen  from  a  table 
near  me ;  it  might  be  made  useful  in  hiding  my  face,  if  any 
more  disappointments  were  in  store  for  me. 

"  Thank  you,  Lady  Clarinda ;  I  was  only  a  little  too  near 
the  fire.  I  shall  do  admirably  here.  You  surprise  me  about 
Mrs.  Beauly.  From  what  Mr.  Dexter  said  to  me,  I  had  im- 
agined— " 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  believe  any  thing  Dexter  tells  you !" 
interposed  Lady  Clarinda.  "  He  delights  in  mystifying  peo- 
ple; and  he  purposely  misled  you,  I  have  no  doubt.  If  all 
that  I  hear  is  true,  he  ought  to  know  more  of  Helena  Beau- 
ly's strange  freaks  and  fancies  than  most  people.  He  all  but 
discovered  her  in  one  of  her  adventures  (down  in  Scotland), 
which  reminds  me  of  the  story  in  Auber's  charming  opera — 
what  is  it  called  ?  I  shall  forget  my  own  name  next !  I 
mean  the  opera  in  which  the  two  nuns  slip  out  of  the  con- 
vent, and  go  to  the  ball.  Listen !  How  very  odd  !  That  vul- 
gar girl  is  singing  the  Castanet  song  in  the  second  act  at  this 
moment.  Major !  what  opera  is  the  young  lady  singing  from?" 

The  Major  was  scandalized  at  this  interruption.  He  bus- 
tled into  the  back  room — whispered,"  Hush  !  hush  !  my  dear 
lady;  the  Domino  Noir" — and  bustled  back  again  to  the 
piano. 

"Of  course!"  said  Lady  Clarinda.  "How  stupid  of  me! 
The  Domino  JVoir.  And  how  strange  that  you  should  forget 
it  too  !" 

I  had  remembered  it  perfectly ;  but  I  could  not  trust  my- 
self to  speak.  If,  as  I  believed,  the  "  adventure"  mentioned 
by  Lady  Clarinda  was  connected,  in  some  way,  with  Mrs. 
Beauly's  mysterious  proceedings  on  the  morning  of  the  twen- 
ty-first of  October,  I  was  on  the  brink  of  the  very  discovery 
which  it  was  the  one  interest  of  my  life  to  make !  I  held 
the  screen  so  as  to  hide  rny  face  ;  and  I  said  in  the  steadiest 
voice  that  I  could  command  at  the  moment, 

"Pray  go  on ! — pray  tell  me  what  the  adventure  was !" 

Lady  Clarinda  was  quite  flattered  by  my  eager  desire  to 
hear  the  coming  narrative. 


THE    LAW    AM)    THE    LADY.  2:5.") 

"I  hope  my  story  will  be  worthy  of  the  interest  which  you 
are  so  good  as  to  feel  in  it,"  she  said.  "  If  you  only  knew 
Helena — it  is  so  like  her !  I  have  it,  you  must  know",  from 
her  maid.  She  has  taken  a  woman  who  speaks  foreign  lan- 
guages with  her  to  Hungary,  and  she  has  left  the  maid  with  me. 
A  perfect  treasure  !  I  should  be  only  too  glad  if  I  could  keep 
her  in  my  service:  she  has  but  one  defect,  a  name  I  hate  — 
Phoebe.  Well !  Phoebe  and  her  mistress  were  staying  at  a 
place  near  Edinburgh,  called  (I  think)  Gleninch.  The  house 
belonged  to  that  Mr.  Macallan  who  was  afterward  tried  — 
you  remember  it,  of  course  ?  —  for  poisoning  his  wife.  A 
dreadful  case;  but  don't  be  alarmed — my  story  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it ;  my  story  has  to  do  with  Helena  Beauly.  One 
evening  (while  she  was  staying  at  Gleninch)  she  was  en- 
gaged to  dine  with  some  English  friends  visiting  Edinburgh. 
The  same  night  —  also  in  Edinburgh  —  there  was  a  masked 
ball,  given  by  somebody  whose  name  I  forget.  The  ball  (al- 
most an  unparalleled  event  in  Scotland  !)  was  reported  to  be 
not  at  all  a  reputable  affair.  All  sorts  of  amusing  people 
were  to  be  there.  TjLadies  of  doubtful  virtue,  you  know, 
and  gentlemen  on  tlie  outlying  limits  of  society,  and  so  on. 
Helena's  friends  had  contrived  to  get  cardsjand  were  go- 
ing, in  spite  of  the  objections — in  the  strictest  incognito,  of 
course,  trusting  to  their  masks.  And  Helena  herself  was 
bent  on  going  with  them,  if  she  could  only  manage  it  with- 
out being  discovered  at  Gleninch.  Mr.  Macallan  was  one  of 
the  strait-laced  people  who  disapproved  of  the  ball.  No  lady, 
he  said,  could  show  herself  at  such  an  entertainment  without 
compromising  her  reputation.  What  stuff!  Well,  Helena, 
in  one  of  her  wildest  moments,  hit  on  a  way  of  going  to  the 
ball  without  discovery  which  was  really  as  ingenious  as  a 
plot  in  a  French  play.  She  went  to  the  dinner  in  the  car- 
riage from  Gleninch,  having  sent  Phoebe  to  Edinburgh  be- 
fore her.  It  was  not  a  grand  dinner — a  little  friendly  gath- 
ering: no  evening  dress.  When  the  time  came  for  going 
back  to  Gleninch,  what  do  you  think  Helena  did?  She  sent 
her  maid  back  in  the  carriage,  instead  of  herself!  Phoebe 
was  dressed  in  her  mistress's  cloak  and  bonnet  and  veil.  She 
was  instructed  to  run  up-stairs  the  moment  she  got  to  the 
house,  leaving  on  the  hall  table  a  little  note  of  apology 
(written  by  Helena,  of  course  !),  pleading  fatigue  as  an  excuse 
for  not  saying  good-night  to  her  host.  The  mistress  and  the 


236  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

maid  were  about  the  same  height ;  and  the  servants  natu- 
rally never  discovered  the  trick.  Phoebe  got  up  to  her  mis- 
tress's room  safely  enough.  There,  her  instructions  were  to 
wait  until  the  house  was  quiet  for  the  night,  and  then  to 
steal  up  to  her  own  room.  While  she  was  waiting,  the  girl 
tell  asleep.  She  only  awoke  at  two  in  the  morning,  or  later. 
It  didn't  much  matter,  as  she  thought.  She  stole  out  on 
tiptoe,  and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  Before  she  was  at 
the  end  of  the  corridor,  she  fancied  she  heard  something. 
She  waited  until  she  was  safe  on  the  upper  story,  and  then 
she  looked  over  the  banisters.  There  was  Dexter — so  like 
him!  —  hopping  about  on  his  hands  (did  you  ever  see  it? 
the  most  grotesquely  horrible  exhibition  you  can  imagine !) 
— there  was  Dexter,  hopping  about,  and  looking  through  key- 
holes, evidently  in  search  of  the  person  who  had  left  her 
room  at  two  in  the  morning;  and  no  doubt  taking  Phcebe 
for  her  mistress,  seeing  that  she  had  forgotten  to  take  her 
mistress's  cloak  off  her  shoulders.  The  next  morning,  early, 
Helena  came  back  in  a  hired  carriage  from  Edinburgh,  with 
a  hat  and  mantle  borrowed  from  her  English  friends.  She 
left  the  carnage  in  the  road,  and  got  into  the  house  by  way  of 
the  garden — without  being  discovered,  this  time,  by  Dexter 
or  by  any  body.  Clever  and  daring,  wasn't  it?  And,  as  I 
said  just  now,  quite  a  new  version  of  the  Domino  Noir. 
You  will  wonder,  as  I  did,  how  it  was  that  Dexter  didn't 
make  mischief  in  the  morning  ?  He  would  have  done  it  no 
doubt.  But  even  he  was  silenced  (as  Phcebe  told  me)  by 
the  dreadful  event  that  happened  in  the  house  on  the  same 
clay. — My  dear  Mrs.  Woodville  !  the  heat  of  this  room  is  cer- 
tainly too  much  for  you,  take  my  smelling-bottle.  Let  me 
open  the  window." 

I  was  just  able  to  answer,  "Pray  say  nothing!  Let  me 
slip  out  into  the  open  air !" 

1  made  my  way  unobserved  to  the  landing,  and  sat  down 
on  the  stairs  to  compose  myself  where  nobody  could  see  me. 
In  a  moment  more  I  felt  a  hand  laid  gently  on  my  shoul- 
der, and  discovered  good  Benjamin  looking  at  me  in  dismay. 
Lady  Clarinda  had  considerately  spoken  to  him,  and  had  as- 
sisted him  in  quietly  making  his  retreat  from  the  room,  while 
his  host's  attention  was  still  absorbed  by  the  music. 

"My  dear  child  !"  he  whispered,  "  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Take  me  home, and  I  will  tell  you,"  was  all  that  I  could  say. 


THE    LAW    AND    1  UK    LADY.  237 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A    SPECIMEN    OP  MY    WISDOM. 

THE  scene  must  follow  my  erratic  movements — the  scene 
must  close  on  London  for  a  while,  and  open  in  Edinburgh. 

Two  days  had  passed  since  Major  Fitz-David's  dinner- 
party. I  was  able  to  breathe  again  freely,  after  the  utter 
destruction  of  all  my  plans  for  the  future,  and  of  all  the  hopes 
that  I  had  founded  on  them.  I  could  now  see  that  I  had 
been  trebly  in  the  wrong — wrong  in  hastily  and  cruelly  sus- 
pecting an  innocent  woman  ;  wrong  in  communicating  my 
suspicions  (without  an  attempt  to  verify  them  previously)  to 
another  person;  wrong  in  accepting  the  flighty  inferences 
and  conclusions  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  as  if  they  had  been 
solid  truths.  I  was  so  ashamed  of  my  folly,  when  I  thought 
of  the  past — so  completely  discouraged,  so  rudely  shaken  in 
my  confidence  in  mvself,  when  I  thought  of  the  future,  that, 
for  once  in  a  way,  I  accepted  sensible  advice  when  it  was  of- 
fered to  me.  "My  dear,"  said  good  old  Benjamin,  after  we 
had  thoroughly  talked  over  my  discomfiture  on  our  return 
from  the  dinner-party,  "judging  by  what  you  tell  me  of  him, 
I  don't  fancy  Mr.  Dexter.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  go 
back  to  him  until  you  have  first  consulted  some  person  who 
is  fitter  to  guide  you  through  this  dangerous  business  than  I 
am." 

I  gave  him  my  promise,  on  one  condition.  "If  I  fail  to 
find  the  person,"  I  said,  "will  you  undertake  to  help  me?" 

Benjamin  pledged  himself  to  help  me,  cheerfully. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  was  brushing  my  hair,  and 
thinking  over  my  affairs,  I  called  to  mind  a  forgotten  reso- 
lution of  mine  at  the  time  when  I  first  read  the  Report  of 
my  husband's  Trial.  I  mean  the  resolution — if  Miserrimus 
Dexter  failed  me — to  apply  to  one  of  the  two  agents  (or  solic- 
itors, as  we  should  term  them)  who  had  prepared  Eustace's 
defense — namely,  Mr.  Playmore.  This  gentleman,  it  maybe 
remembered,  had  especially  recommended  himself  to  my  con- 
fidence by  his  friendly  interference  when  the  sheriff's  offi- 
cers were  in  search  of  my  husband's  papers.  Referring  baek 


238  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

to  the  evidence  of  "  Isaiah  Schoolcraft,"  I  found  that  Mr. 
Playmore  had  been  called  in  to  assist  and  advise  Eustace  by 
Miserrimus  Dexter.  He  was  therefore  not  only  a  friend  on 
whom  I  might  rely,  but  a  friend  who  was  personally  ac- 
quainted with  Dexter  as  well.  Could  there  be  a  fitter  man 
to  apply  to  for  enlightenment  in  the  darkness  that  had  now 
gathered  around  me  ?  Benjamin,  when  I  put  the  question  to 
him,  acknowledged  that  I  had  made  a  sensible  choice  on  this 
occasion,  and  at  once  exerted  himself  to  help  me.  He  dis- 
covered (through  his  own  lawyer)  the  address  of  Mr.  Play- 
more's  London  agents;  and  from  these  gentlemen  he  ob- 
tained for  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Playmore  him- 
self. I  had  nothing  to  conceal  from  my  new*  adviser;  and  I 
was  properly  described  in  the  letter  as  Eustace  Macallan's 
second  wife. 

The  same  evening  we  two  set  forth  (Benjamin  refused  to 
let  me  travel  alone)  by  the  night  mail  for  Edinburgh. 

I  had  previously  written  to  Miserrimus  Dexter  (by  my 
old  friend's  advice),  merely  saying  that  I  had  been  unexpect- 
edly called  away  from  London  for  a  few  days,  and  that  I 
would  report  to  him  the  result  of  my  interview  with  Lady 
Clarinda  on  my  return.  A  characteristic  answer  was  brought 
back  to  the  cottage  by  Ariel :  "  Mrs.  Valeria,  1  happen  to 
be  a  man  of  quick  perceptions ;  and  I  can  read  the  unwrit- 
ten part  of  your  letter.  Lady  Clarinda  has  shaken  your  con- 
fidence in  me.  Very  good.  I  pledge  myself  to  shake  your 
confidence  in  Lady  Clarinda.  In  the  mean  time  I  am  not 
offended.  In  serene  composure  I  await  the  honor  and  the 
happiness  of  your  visit.  Send  me  word  by  telegraph  wheth- 
er you  would  like  Truffles  again,  or  whether  you  would  pre- 
fer something  simpler  and  lighter — say  that  incomparable 
French  dish,  Pig's  Eyelids  and  Tamarinds.  Believe  me  al- 
ways your  ally  and  admirer,  your  poet  and  cook — DEXTER." 

Arrived  in  Edinburgh,  Benjamin  and  I  had  a  little  discus- 
sion. The  question  in  dispute  between  us  was  whether  I 
should  go  with  him,  or  go  alone,  to  Mr.  Playmore.  I  was 
all  for  going  alone. 

"  My  experience  of  the  world  is  not  a  very  large  one,"  I 
said.  "  But  I  have  observed  that,  in  nine  cases  out  often,  a 
man  will  make  concessions  to  a  woman,  if  she  approaches 
him  by  herself,  which  he  would  hesitate  even  to  consider 
if  another  man  was  within  hearing.  I  don't  know  how  it  is — I 


THE     \.\\\-    AM)    THE    LADY.  239 

only  know  that  it  is  so.  If  I  find  that  I  get  on  badly  with 
Mr.  Play  more,  I  will  ask  him  for  a  second  appointment,  and, 
in  that  case,  you  shall  accompany  me.  Don't  think  me  self- 
willed.  Let  me  try  my  luck  alone,  and  let  us  see  what  comes 
of  it," 

Benjamin  yielded,  with  his  customary  consideration  for 
me.  I  sent  my  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Playmore's  of- 
fice— his  private  house  being  in  the  neighborhood  of  Glen- 
inch.  My  messenger  brought  back  a  polite  answer,  inviting 
me  to  visit  him  at  an  early  hour  in  the  afternoon.  At  the 
appointed  time,  to  the  moment,  I  rang  the  bell  at  the  office 
door. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A   SPECIMEN    OF   MY    FOLLY. 

THE  incomprehensible  submission  of  Scotchmen  to  the  ec- 
clesiastical tyranny  of  their  Established  Church  has  pro- 
duced— not  unnaturally,  as  I  think — a  very  mistaken  impres- 
sion of  the  national  character  in  the  popular  mind. 

Public  opinion  looks  at  the  institution  of  "The  Sabbath" 
in  Scotland;  finds  it  unparalleled  in  Christendom  for  its 
senseless  and  savage  austerity ;  sees  a  nation  content  to  be 
deprived  by  its  priesthood  of  every  social  privilege  on  one 
day  in  every  week — forbidden  to  travel ;  forbidden  to  tele- 
graph ;  forbidden  to  eat  a  hot  dinner ;  forbidden  to  read  a 
newspaper;  in  short,  allowed  the  use  of  two  liberties  only, 
the  liberty  of  exhibiting  one's  self  at  the  Church  and  the  liber- 
ty of  secluding  one's  self  over  the  bottle — public  opinion  sees 
this,  and  arrives  at  the  not  unreasonable  conclusion  that  the 
people  who  submit  to  such  social  laws  as  these  are  the  most 
stolid,  stern,  and  joyless  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Such  are  Scotchmen  supposed  to  be,  when  viewed  at  a  dis- 
tance. But  how  do  Scotchmen  appear  when  they  are  seen 
under  a  closer  light,  and  judged  by  the  test  of  personal  ex- 
perience? There  are  no  people  more  cheerful,  more  com- 
panionable, more  hospitable,  more  liberal  in  their  ideas  to  be 
found  on  the  face  of  the  civilized  globe  than  the  very  people 
who  submit  to  the  Scotch  Sunday !  On  the  six  days  of  the 
week  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  quiet  humor,  a  radiation  of 
genial  common-sense,  about  Scotchmen  in  general,  which  is 


240  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

simply  delightful  to  feel.  But  on  the  seventh  day  these 
same  men  will  hear  one  of  their  ministers  seriously  tell  them 
that  he  views  taking  a  walk  on  the  Sabbath  in  the  light  of 
an  act  of  profanity,  and  will  be  the  only  people  in  existence 
who  can  let  a  man  talk  downright  nonsense  without  laugh- 
ing at  him. 

I  am  not  clever  enough  to  be  able  to  account  for  this 
anomaly  in  the  national  character;  I  can  only  notice  it  by 
way  of  necessary  preparation  for  the  appearance  in  my  little 
narrative  of  a  personage  not  frequently  seen  in  writing — a 
cheerful  Scotchman. 

In  all  other  respects  I  found  Mr.  Playmore  only  negative- 
ly remarkable.  He  was  neither  old  nor  young,  neither  hand- 
some nor  ugly  ;  he  was  personally  not  in  the  least  like  the 
popular  idea  of  a  lawyer;  and  he  spoke  perfectly  good  En- 
glish, touched  with  only  the  slightest  possible  flavor  of  a 
Scotch  accent. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be  an  old  friend  of  Mi*.  Macallan,"  he 
said,  cordially  shaking  hands  with  me;  "and  I  am  honest- 
ly happy  to  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  Macallan's  wife. 
Where  will  you  sit  ?  Nearthe  light  ?  You  are  young  enough 
not  to  be  afraid  of  the  daylight  just  yet.  Is  this  your  first 
visit  to  Edinburgh  ?  Pray  let  me  make  it  as  pleasant  to  you 
as  I  can.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  present  Mrs.  Playmore  to 
you.  We  are  staying  in  Edinburgh  for  a  little  while.  The 
Italian  opera  is  here,  and  we  have  a  box  for  to-night.  Will 
you  kindly  waive  all  ceremony,  and  dine  with  us  and  go  to 
the  music  afterward  ?" 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  I  answered.  "But  I  have  some  anx- 
ieties just  now  which  will  make  me  a  very  poor  companion 
for  Mrs.  Playmore  at  the  opera.  My  letter  to  you  mentions, 
I  think,  that  I  have  to  ask  your  advice  on  matters  which  are 
of  very  serious  importance  to  me." 

"Does  it?"  he  rejoined.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have 
not  read  the  letter  through.  I  saw  your  name  in  it,  and  I 
gathered  from  your  message  that  you  wished  to  see  me 
here.  I  sent  my  note  to  your  hotel — and  then  went  on 
with  something  else.  Pray  pardon  me.  Is  this  a  profes- 
sional consultation  ?  For  your  own  sake,  I  sincerely  hope 
not !" 

"  It  is  hardly  a  professional  consultation,  Mr.  Playmore.  I 
find  myself  in  a  very  painful  position  ;  and  I  come  to  you  to 


THE    LAW    AXI>    THE    I.ADY.  241 

advise  me,  under  very  unusual  circumstances.  I  shall  sur- 
prise you  very  much  when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say ; 
and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  occupy  more  than  my  fair  share  of 
your  time." 

"I  and  my  time  are  entirely  at  your  disposal,"  he  said. 
"Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you— and  tell  it  in  your  own 
way." 

The  kindness  of  this  language  was  more  than  matched  by 
the  kindness  of  his  manner.  I  spoke  to  him  freely  and  fully 
— I  told  him  my  strange  story  without  the  slightest  reserve. 

He  showed  the  varying  impressions  that  I  produced  on 
his  mind  without  the  slightest  concealment.  My  separation 
from  .Eustace  distressed  him.  My  resolution  to  dispute  the 
Scotch  Verdict,  and  my  unjust  suspicions  of  Mrs.  Heauly, 
first  amused,  then  surprised  him.  It  was  not,  however,  un- 
til I  had  described  my  extraordinary  interview  with  Misi-rri- 
mus  Dexter,  and  my  hardly  less  remarkable  conversation 
with  Lady  Clarinda,  that  I  produced  my  greatest  effect  on 
the  lawyer's  mind.  I  saw  him  change  color  for  the  first 
time.  He  started,  and  muttered  to  himself,  as  if  he  had  com- 
pletely forgotten  me.  "  Good  God  !"  I  heard  him  say — "  can 
it  be  possible?  Does  the  truth  lie  t/iat  way  after  all?" 

I  took  the  liberty  of  interrupting  him.  I  had  no  idea  of 
allowing  him  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself. 

"  I  seem  to  have  surprised  you  ?"  I  said. 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice. 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
have  not  only  surprised  me — you  have  opened  an  entirely 
new  view  to  my  mind.  I  see  a  possibility,  a  really  startling 
possibility,  in  connection  with  the  poisoning  at  Gleninch, 
which  never  occurred  to  me  until  the  present  moment.  This 
is  a  nice  state  of  things,"  he  added,  falling  back  again  into 
his  ordinary  humor.  "  Here  is  the  client  leading  the  law- 
yer. My  dear  Mrs.  Eustace,  which  is  it — do  you  want  my 
advice  ?  or  do  I  want  yours  ?" 

"  May  I  hear  the  new  idea  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  just  yet,  if  you  will  excuse  ane,"  he  answered. 
"Make  allowances  for  my  professional  caution.  I  don't 
want  to  be  professional  with  You — my  great  anxiety  is  to 
avoid  it.  But  the  lawyer  gets  the  better  of  the  man,  and 
refuses  to  be  suppressed.  I  really  hesitate  to  realize  what 
is  passing  in  my  own  mind  without  some  further  inquiry. 
L2 


'242  THE    LAW    AXD    THE    LADY. 

1  t>% 

Do  me  a  great  favor.  Let  us  go  over  a  part  of  the  ground 
again,  and  let  me  ask  you  some  questions  as  we  proceed. 
Do  you  feel  any  objection  to  obliging  me  in  this  matter?" 

"Certainly  not, Mr. Playmore.    How  far  shall  we  go  back?" 

"  To  your  visit  to  Dexter  with  your  mother-in-law.  When 
you  first  asked  him  if  he  had  any  ideas  of  his  own  on  the 
subject  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death,  did  I  understand 
you  to  say  that  he  looked  at  you  suspiciously  ?" 

"  Very  suspiciously." 

"  And  his  face  cleared  up  again  when  you  told  him  that 
your  question^was  only  suggested  by  what  you  had  read  in 
the  Report  of  the  Trial  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  drew  a  slip  of  paper  out  of  the  drawer  in  his  desk, 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  considered  a  little,  and  placed  a 
chair  for  me  close  at  his  side. 

"  The  lawyer  disappears,"  he  said,  "  and  the  man  resumes 
his  proper  place.  There  shall  be  no  professional  mysteries 
between  you  and  me.  As  your  husband's  old  friend,  Mrs. 
Eustace,  I  feel  no  common  interest  in  you.  I  see  a  serious 
necessity  for  warning  you  before  it  is  too  late ;  and  I  can 
only  do  so  to  any  good  purpose  by  running  a  risk  on  which 
few  men  in  my  ulace  would  venture.  Personally  and  pro- 
fessionally, I  am  going  to  trust  you — though  I  am  a  Scotch- 
man and  a  lawyer.  Sit  here,  and  look  over  my  shoulder 
while  I  make  my  notes.  You  will  see  what  is  passing  in  my 
mind  if  you  see  what  I  write." 

I  sat  down  by  him,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder,  without 
the  smallest  pretense  of  hesitation. 
\He  began  to  write  as  follows  : 

"The  poisoning  at  Gleninch.  Queries:  In  what  position 
doeaMiserrimus  Dexter  stand  toward  the  poisoning  ?  And 
whal  does  he  (presumably)  know  about  that  matter? 

"  He  has  ideas  which  are  secrets.  He  suspects  that  he 
has  betrayed  them,  or  that  they  have  been  discovered  in 
some  way  inconceivable  to  himself.  He  is  palpably  relieved 
when  he  finds  that  this  is  not  the  case." 

The  pen  stopped  ;  and  the  questions  went  on, 

"  Let  us  advance  to  your  second  visit,"  said  Mr.  Playmore, 
"  when  you  saw  Dexter  alone.  Tell  me  again  what  he  did, 
and  how  he  looked,  when  you  informed  him  that  you  were 
not  satisfied  with  the  Scotch  Verdict." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  243 

I  repeated  wb.it  I  have  already  written  in  these  pages. 
The  pen  went  back  to  the  paper  again,  and  added  these 
lines  : 

"  He  hears  nothing  more  remarkable  than  that  a  person 
visiting  him,  who  is  interested  in  the  case,  refuses  to  accept 
the  verdict  at  the  Macallan  Trial  as  a  final  verdict,  and  pro- 
poses to  reopen  the  inquiry.  "What  does  he  do  upon  that  ? 

"  He  exhibits  all  the  symptoms  of  a  panic  of  terror ;  he 
sees  himself  in  some  incomprehensible  danger^  he  is  frantic 
at  one  moment  and  servile  at  the  next ;  he  must  and  will 
know  what  this  disturbing  person  really  means.  And  when 
he  is  informed  on  that  point,  he  first  turns  pale  and  doubts 
the  evidence  of  his  own  senses;  and  next,  with  nothing  said 
to  justify  it,  gratuitously  accuses  his  visitor  of  suspecting 
somebody.  Query  here  :  When  a  small  sum  of  money  is 
missing  in  a  household,  and  the  servants  in  general  are  called 
together  to  be  informed  of  the  circumstance,  what  do  we 
think  of  the  one  servant  in  particular  who  speaks  first,  and 
who  says, 'Do  you  suspect  me.*"" 

He  laid  down  the  pen  again. 

"Is  that  right?"  he  asked. 

I  began  to  see  the  end  to  which  the  notes  were  drift- 
ing. Instead  of  answering  his  question,  I  entreated  him  to 
enter  into  the  explanations  that  were  still  wanting  to  con- 
vince my  own  mind.  He  held  up  a  warning  forefinger,  and 
stopped  me. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said.    "  Once  again,  am  I  right — so  far?" 

"  Quite  right." 

"  Very  well.  Now  tell  me  what  happened  next.  Don't 
mind  repeating  yourself.  Give  me  all  the  details-,  one  after 
another,  to  the  end." 

I  mentioned  all  the  details  exactly  as  I  remembered  thorn. 
Mr.  Playmore  returned  to  his  writing  for  the  third  and  lust 
time.  Thus  the  notes  ended  : 

"  He  is  indirectly  assured  that  he  at  least  is  not  the  person 
suspected.  He  sinks  back  in  his  chair;  he  draws  a  long 
breath ;  he  asks*to  be  left  a  while  by  himself,  under  the  pre- 
tense that  the  subject  excites  him.  When  the  visitor  re- 
turns, Dexter  has  been  drinking  in  the  interval.  The  visitor 
resumes  the  subject — not  Dexter.  The  visitor  is  convinced 
that  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan  died  by  the  hand  of  a  poisoner, 
and  openly  says  so.  Dexter  sinks  back  in  his  chair  like  a 


244  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

man  fainting.  What  is  the  horror  that  has  got  possession 
of  him  ?  It  is  easy  to  understand  if  we  call  it  guilty  horror; 
it  is  beyond  all  understanding  if  we  call  it  any  thing  else. 
And  how  does  it  leave  him  ?  He  flies  from  one  extreme  to 
another ;  he  is  indescribably  delighted  when  he  discovers 
that  the  visitor's  suspicions  are  all  fixed  on  an  absent  per- 
son. And  then,  and  then  only,  he  takes  refuge  in  the  decla- 
ration that  he  has  been  of  one  mind  with  his  visitor,  in  the 
matter  of  suspicion,  from  the  first.  These  are  facts.  To 
what  plain  conclusion  do  they  point  ?" 

He  shut  up  his  notes,  and,  steadily  watching  my  face, 
waited  for  me  to  speak  first. 

"  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Playmore,"  I  began,  impetuously. 
"  You  believe  that  Mr.  Dexter — " 

His  warning  forefinger  stopped  me  there. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  interposed,  "  what  Dexter  said  to  you  when 
he  was  so  good  as  to  confirm  your  opinion  of  poor  Mrs. 
Beauly." 

"  He  said,  '  There  isn't  a  doubt  about  it.  Mrs.  Beauly 
poisoned  her.'  " 

"  I  can't  do  better  than  follow  so  good  an  example — with 
one  trifling  difference.  I  say  too,  There  isn't  a  doubt  about 
it.  Dexter  poisoned  her." 

"  Are  you  joking,  Mr.  Playmore  ?" 

"  I  never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  life.  Your  rash  visit 
to  Dexter,  and  your  extraordinary  imprudence  in  taking  him 
into  your  confidence,  have  led  to  astonishing  results.  The 
light  which  the  whole  machinery  of  the  Law  was  unable  to 
throw  on  the  poisoning  case  at  Gleninch  has  been  accident- 
ally let  in^Dn  it  by  a  Lady  who  refuses  to  listen  to  reason 
and  who  insists  on  having  her  own  way.  Quite  incredible, 
and  nevertheless  quite  true." 

"Impossible!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  What  is  impossible  ?"  he  asked,  coolly. 

"  That  Dexter  poisoned  my  husband's  first  wife." 

"  And  why  is  that  impossible,  if  you  please  ?" 

I  began  to  be  almost  enraged  with  Mr.  Playmore. 

"Can  you  ask  the  .question?"  I  replied,  indignantly.  "I 
have  told  you  that  I  heard  him  speak  of  her  in  terms  of  re- 
spect and  affection  of  which  any  woman  might  be  proud. 
He  lives  in  the  memory  of  her.  I  owe  his  friendly  reception 
of  me  to  some  resemblance  which  he  fancies  he  sees  between 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  '-'  t.~> 

my  figure  and  hers.  I  have  seen  tears  in  his  eyes,  I  have 
heard  his  voice  falter  and  fail  him,  when  he  spoke  of  her. 
lie  may  be  the  falsest  of  men  in  all  besides,  but  he  is  true 
to  her — he  has  not  misled  me  in  that  one  thing.  There  are 
signs  that  never  deceive  a  woman  when  a  man  is  talking  to 
her  of  what  is  really  near  his  heart:  I  saw  those  signs.  It 
is  as  true  that  I  poisoned  her  as  that  he  did.  I  am  ashamed 
to  set  my  opinion  against  yours,  Mr.  Playmore  ;  but  I  really 
can  not  help  it.  I  declare  I  am  almost  angry  with  you." 

He  seemed  to  be  pleased,  instead  of  offended,  by  the  bold 
manner  in  which  I  expressed  myself. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Eustace,  you  have  no  reason  to  be  angry 
with  me.  In  one  respect,  I  entirely  share  your  view — with 
this  difference,  that  I  go  a  little  farther  than  you  do." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  will  understand  me  directly.  You  describe  Dexter's 
feeling  for  the  late  Mrs.  Eustace  as  a  happy  mixture  of  re- 
spect and  affection.  I  can  tell  you  it  was  a  much  warmer 
feeling  toward  her  than  that.  I  have  my  information  from 
fhe  poor  lady  herself — who  honored  me  with  her  confidence 
So  1  friendship  for  the  best  part  of  her  life.  Before  she  mar- 
ried Mr.  Macallan — she  kept  it  a  secret  from  him,  and  you 
had  better  keep  it  a  secret  too — Miserrimus  Dexter  was  in 
love  with  her.  Miserrimus  Dexter  asked  her — deformed  as 
he  was,  seriously  asked  her — to  be  his  wife." 

"And  in  the  face  of  that,"  I  cried, "  you  say  that  he  poison- 
ed her!" 

"I  do.  I  see  no  other  conclusion  possible,  after  what  hap- 
pened during  your  visit  to  him.  You  all  but  frightened 
him  into  a  fainting  fit.  What  was  he  afraid  of?" 
•  I  tried  hard  to  find  an  answer  to  that.  I  even  embarked 
on  an  answer  without  quite  knowing  where  my  own  words 
might  lead  me. 

"Mr.  Dexter  is  an  old  and  true  friend  of  my  husband,"  I 
began.  "When  he  heard  me  say  I  was  not  satisfied  with 
the  Verdict,  he  might  have  felt  alarmed — " 

"lie  might  have  felt  alarmed  at  the  possible  consequences 
to  your  husband  of  reopening  the  inquiry,"  said  Mr.  Play- 
more,  ironically  finishing  the  sentence  for  me.  "  Rather  far- 
fetched, Mrs.  Eustace;  and  not  very  consistent  with  your 
faith  in  your  husband's  innocence.  Clear  your  mind  of  one 
mistake,"  he  continued,  seriously,  "which  may  fatally  mislead 


246  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

you  if  you  persist  in  pursuing  your  present  course.  Miser- 
rimus  Dexter,  you  may  take  ray  word  for  it,  ceased  to  be 
your  husband's  friend  on  the  day  when  your  husband  mar- 
ried his  first  wife.  Dexter  has  kept  up  appearances,  I  grant 
you,  both  in  public  and  in  private.  His  evidence  in  his 
friend's  favor  at  the  Trial  was  given  with  the  deep  feeling 
which  every  body  expected  from  him.  Nevertheless,  I  firmly 
believe,  looking  under  the  surface,  that  Mr.  Macallan  has  no 
bitterer  enemy  living  than  Miserrimus  Dexter." 

He  turned -me  cold.  I  felt  that  here,  at  least,  he  was  right. 
My  husband  had  wooed  and  won  the  woman  who  had  re- 
fused Dexter's  oifer  of  marriage.  Was  Dexter  the  man  to 
forgive  that?  My  own  experience  answered  me,  and  said, 
No. 

"Bear  in  mind  what  I  have  told  you,"  Mr.  Playmove  pro- 
ceeded. "And  now  let  us  get  on  to  your  own  position  in 
this  matter,  and  to  the  interests  that  you  have  at  stake. 
Try  to  adopt  my  point  of  view  for  the  moment ;  and  let  us 
inquire  what  chance  we  have  of  making  any  farther  advance 
toward  a  discovery  of  the  truth.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  mor- 
ally convinced  (as  I  am)  that  Miserrimus  Dexter  is  the  m^j, 
who  ought  to  have  been  tried  for  the  murder  at  Gleninch; 
and  it  is  another  thing,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  lay  our 
hands  on  the  plain  evidence  which  can  alone  justify  any  thing 
like  a  public  assertion  of  his  guilt.  There,  as  I  see  it,  is  the 
insuperable  difficulty  in  the  case.  Unless  I  am  completely 
mistaken,  the  question  is  now  narrowed  to  this  plain  issue: 
The  public  assertion  of  your  husband's  innocence  depends 
entirely  on  the  public  assertion  of  Dexter's  guilt.  How  are 
you  to  arrive  at  that  result  ?  There  is  not  a  particle  of  evi- 
dence against  him.  You  can  only  convict  Dexter  on  Dex- 
ter's own  confession.  Are  you  listening  to  me  ?" 

I  was  listening,  most  unwillingly.  If  he  were  right,  things 
had  indeed  come  to  that  terrible  pass.  But  I  could  not — 
with  all  my  respect  for  his  superior  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence— I  could  not  persuade  myself  that  he  was  right.  And 
I  owned  it,  with  the  humility  which  I  really  felt. 

He  smiled  good-humoredly. 

"At  any  rate,"  he  said,  "you  will  admit  that  Dexter  has 
not  freely  opened  his  mind  to  you  thus  far?  He  is  still 
keeping  something  from  your  knowledge  which  you  are  in- 
terested in  discovering?" 


THE    LAW 'AND    THE    LADY.  217 

"Yes.     I  admit  that." 

"Very  good.  What  applies  to  your  view  of  the  case  ap- 
plies to  mine.  I  say,  he  is  keeping  from  you  the  confession 
of  his  guilt.  You  say,  he  is  keeping  from  you  information 
which  may  fasten  the  guilt  on  some  other  person.  Let  us 
start  from  that  point.  Confession,  or  information, how  are  you 
to  get  at  what  he  is  now  withholding  from  you  ?  What  influ- 
ence can  you  bring  to  bear  on  him  when  you  see  him  again  ?" 

"  Surely  I  might  persuade  him  ?" 

"  Certainly.  And  if  persuasion  fail — what  then  ?  Do  you 
think  you  can  entrap  him  into  speaking  out  ?  or  terrify  him 
into  speaking  out  ?" 

"  If  you  will  look  at  your  notes,  Mr.  Playmore,  you  will  see 
that  I  have  already  succeeded  in  terrifying  him — though  I 
am  only  a  woman,  and  though  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it." 

"Very  well  answered.  You  mark  the  trick.  What  you 
have  done  once  you  think  you  can  do  again.  Well,  as  you 
are  determined  to  try  the  experiment,  it  can  do  you  no  harm 
to  know  a  little  more  of  Dexter's  character  and  temperament 
than  you  know  now.  Suppose  we  apply  for  information  to 
somebody  who  can  help  us?" 

I  started,  and  looked  round  the  room.  He  made  me  do  it — 
he  spoke  as  if  the  person  who  was  to  help  us  was  close  at 
our  elbows. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said.  "  The  oracle  is  silent ;  and 
the  oracle  is  here." 

He  unlocked  one  of  the  drawers  of  his  desk;  produced  a 
bundle  of  letters,  and  picked  out  one. 

"  When  we  were  arranging  your  husband's  defense,"  he 
said,  "  we  felt  some  difficulty  about  including  Miserrimus 
Dexter  among  our  witnesses.  We  had  not  the  slightest  sus- 
picion of  him,  I  need  hardly  tell  you.  But  we  were  all  afraid 
of  his  eccentricity;  and  some  among  us  even  feared  that  the 
excitement  of  appearing  at  the  Trial  might  drive  him  com- 
pletely out  of  his  mind.  In  this  emergency  we  applied  to  a 
doctor  to  help  us.  Under  some  pretext,  which  I  forget  now, 
we  introduced  him  to  Dexter.  And  in  due  course  of  time 
we  received  his  report.  Here  it  is." 

He  opened  the  letter,  and  marking  a  certain  passage  in  it 
with  a  pencil,  handed  it  to  me. 

"Read  the  lines  which  I  have  marked,"  he  said;  "they 
will  be  quite  sufficient  for  our  purpose/' 


248  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

•>%\ 

I  read  these  words : 

"  Summing  up  the  results  of  my  observation,  I  may  give  it 
as  my  opinion  that  there  is  undoubtedly  latent  insanity  in  this 
case,  but  that  no  active  symptoms  of  madness  have  present- 
ed themselves  as  yet.  You  may,  I  think,  produce  him  at  the 
Trial,  without  fear  of  consequences.  He  may  say  and  do  all 
sorts  of  odd  things ;  but  he  has  his  mind  under  the  control 
of  his  will,  and  you  may  trust  his  self-esteem  to  exhibit  him 
in  the  character  of  a  substantially  intelligent  witness. 
f  .>,"  As  to  the  future,  I  am,  of  course,  not  able  to  speak  posi- 
tively. I  can  only  state  my  views. 

^"That  he  will  end  in  madness  (if  he  live),  I  entertain  little 
or  no  doubt.  The  question  of  when  the  madness  will  show 
itself  depends  entirely  on  the  state  of  his  health.  His  nerv- 
ous system  is  highly  sensitive,  and  there  are  signs  that  his 
way  of  life  has  already  damaged  it.  If  he  conquer  the  bad 
habits  to  which  I  have  alluded  in  an  earlier  part  of  ray  re- 
port, and  if  he  pass  many  hours  of  every  day  quietly  in  the 
open  air,  he  may  last  as  a  sane  man  for  years  to  come.  If 
he  persist  in  his  present  way  of  life — or,  in  other  words,  if 
further  mischief  occur  to  that  sensitive  nervous  system — his 
lapse  into  insanity  must  infallibly  take  place  when  the  mis- 
chief has  reached  its  culminating  point.  Without  warning 
to  himself  o* to  others,  the  whole  mental  structure  will  give 
way  ;  and,  at  a  moment's  notice,  while  he  is  acting  as  quietly 
or  speaking  as  intelligently  as  at  his  best  time,  the  man  will 
drop  (if  I  may  use  the  expression)  into  madness  or  idiocy. 
In  tMther  case,  when  the  catastrophe  has  happened,  it  is  only 
due  to  his  friends  to  add  that  they  can  (as  I  believe)  enter- 
tain no  hope  of  his  cure.  The  balance  once  lost,  will  be  lost 
for  life." 

There  it  ended.  Mr.  Playmore  put  the  letter  back  in  his 
drawer. 

"You  have  just  read  the  opinion  of  one  of  our  highest  liv- 
ing authorities,"  he  said.  "Does  Dexter  strike  you  as  a  like- 
ly man  to  give  his  nervous  system  a  chance  of  recovery? 
Do  you  see  no  obstacles  and  no  perils  in  your  way  ?" 

My  silence  answered  him. 

"Suppose  you  go  back  to  Dexter,"  he  proceeded.  "And 
suppose  that"  the  doctor's  opinion  exaggerates  the  peril  in 
his  case.  What  are  you  to  do?  The  last  time  you  saw  him, 
you  had  the  immense  advantage  of  taking  him  by  surprise. 


THE    I-AAV    AND    THE    LADY.  249 

Those  sensitive  nerves  of  his  gave  way,  and  lie  betrayed  the 
fear  that  you  aroused  in  him.  Can  you  take  him  by  surprise 
again?  Not  you!  He  is  prepared  for  you  now;  and  he 
will  be  on  his  guard.  If  you  encounter  nothing  worse,  you 
will  have  his  cunning  to  deal  with  next.  Are  you  his  match 
at  that?  But  for  Lady  Clarinda  he  would  have  hopelessly 
misled  you  on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Beauly." 

There  was  no  answering  this,  either.  I  was  foolish  enough 
to  try  to  answer  it,  for  all  that. 

"He  told  me  the  truth  so  far  as  he  knew  it,"  I  rejoined. 
"He  really  saw  what  he  said  he  saw  in  the  corridor  at 
Gleninch." 

"  He  told  you  the  truth,"  returned  Mr.  Playmore,  "  because 
he  was  cunning  enough  to  see  that  the  truth  would  help  him 
in  irritating  your  suspicions.  You  don't  really  believe  that 
lie  shared  your  suspicions?" 

"  Why  not?"  I  said.  "He  was  as  ignorant  of  what  Mrs. 
Beauly  was  really  doing  on  that  night  as  I  was — until  I  met 
Lady  Clarinda.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  he  will  not 
be  as  much  astonished  as  I  was  when  I  tell  him  what  Lady 
Clarinda  told  me." 

This  smart  reply  produced  an  effect  which  I  had  not  antic- 
ipated. 

To  my  surprise,  Mr.  Playmore  abruptly  dropped  all  further 
discussion  on  his  side.  He  appeared  to  despair  of  convincing 
me,  and  he  owned  it  indirectly  in  his  next  words. 

"Will  nothing  that  I  can  say  to  you,"  he  asked,  "  induce 
you  to  think  as  I  think  in  this  matter?" 

"  I  have  not  your  ability  or  your  experience,"  I  answered. 
"I  am  sorry  to  say  I  can't  think  as  you  think." 

"  And  you  arc  really  determined  to  see  Miserrimus  Dexter 
again  ?" 

"I  have  engaged  myself  to  see  him  again." 

lie  waited  a  little,  and  thought  over  it. 

"You  have  honored  me  by  asking  for  my  advice,"  he  said. 
"I  earnestly  advise  you,  Mrs.  Eustace,  to  break  your  engage- 
ment. I  go  even  further  than  that — I  entreat  you  not  to  see 
Dexter  again." 

Just  what  my  mother-in-law  had  said  !  just  what  Benjamin 
an-d  Major  Fitz-David  had  said  !  They  were  all  against  me. 
And  still  I  held  out.  I  wonder,  when  I  look  back  at  it,  at  my 
own  obstinacy.  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  relate  that  I  made 


250  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Mr.  Play-more  no  reply.  He  waited,  still  looking  at  me.  I 
felt  irritated  by  that  fixed  look.  I  arose,  and  stood  before 
him  with  my  eyes  on  the  floor. 

He  arose  in  his  turn.  He  understood  that  the  conference 
was  over. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  sad  good-humor,  "I 
suppose  it  is  unreasonable  of  me  to  expect  that  a  young 
woman  like  you  should  share  any  opinion  with  an  old  lawyer 
like  me.  Let  me  only  remind  you  that  our  conversation 
must  remain  strictly  confidential  for  the  present;  and  then 
let  us  change  the  subject.  Is  there  any  thing  that  I  can  do 
for  you  ?  Are  you  alone  in  Edinburgh  ?" 

"  No.  I  am  traveling  with  an  old  friend  ,of  mine,  who  has 
known  me  from  childhood." 

"And  do  you  stay  here  to-morrow?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Will  you  do  me  one  favor?  Will  you  think  over  what 
has  passed  between  us,  and  will  you  come  back  to  me  in  the 
morning?" 

"Willingly,  Mr.  Playmore,  if  it  is  only  to  thank  you  again 
for  your  kindness." 

On  that  understanding  we  parted.  He  sighed — the  cheer- 
ful man  sighed,  as  he  opened  the  door  for  me.  Women  are 
contradictory  creatures.  That  sigh  affected  me  more  than 
all  his  arguments.  I  felt  myself  blush  for  my  own  head- 
strong resistance  to  him  as  I  took  my  leave  and  turned  away 
into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

GLENINCH. 

"AHA!"  said  Benjamin,  complacently.  "So  the  lawyer 
thinks,  as  I  do,  that  you  will  be  highly  imprudent  if  you  go 
back  to  Mr.  Dexter  ?  A  hard-headed,  sensible  man  the  law- 
yer, no  doubt.  You  will  listen  to  Mr.  Playmore,  won't  you, 
though  you  wouldn't  listen  to  me?" 

(I  had  of  course  respected  Mr.  Playmore's  confidence  in 
me  when  Benjamin  and  I  met  on  my  return  to  the  hotel. 
Not  a  word  relating  to  the  lawyer's  horrible  suspicion  of 
Miserrimus  Dexter  had  passed  my  lips.) 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  251 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  my  old  friend,"  I  said,  answering 
Benjamin.  "I  am  afraid  it  has  come  to  this — try  as  I  may, 
I  can  listen  to  nobody  who  advises  me.  On  our  way  here  I 
honestly  meant  to  be  guided  by  Mr.  Playmore — we  should 
never  have  taken  this  long  journey  if  I  had  not  honestly 
meant  it.  I  have  tried,  tried  hard  to  be  a  teachable,  reason- 
able woman.  But  there  is  something  in  me  that  won't  be 
taught.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  go  back  to  Dexter." 

Even  Benjamin  lost  all  patience  with  me  this  time. 

"What  is  bred  in  the  bone,"  he  said,  quoting  the  old  prov- 
erb, "  will  never  come  out  of  the  flesh.  In  years  gone  by, 
you  were  the  most  obstinate  child  that  ever  made  a  mess  in 
a  nursery.  Oh,  dear  me,  we  might  as  well  have  stayed  in 
London." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "JQOW  we  have  traveled  to  Edinburgh, 
we  will  see  something  (interesting  to  me  at  any  rate)  which 
we  should  never  have  seen  if  w.e  had  not  left  London.  My 
husband's  country-house  is  within  a  few  miles  of  us  here. 
To-morrow  we  will  go  to  Gleninch." 

"Where  the  poor  lady  was  poisoned?"  asked  Benjamin, 
with  a  look  of  dismay.  "  You  mean  that  place  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  want  to  see  the  room  in  which  she  died ;  I  want 
to  go  all  over  the  house." 

Benjamin  crossed  his  hands  resignedly  on  his  lap.  "I  try 
to  understand  the  new  generation,"  said  the  old  man,  sadly ; 
"but  I  can't  manage  it.  The  new  generation  beats  me." 

I  sat  down  to  write  to  Mr.  Playmore  about  the  visit  to 
Gleninch.  The  house  in  which  the  tragedy  had  occurred 
that  had  blighted  my  husband's  life  was,  to  my  mind,  the 
most  interesting  house  on  the  habitable  globe.  The  prospect 
of  visiting  Gleninch  had,  indeed  (to  tell  the  truth),  strongly 
influenced  my  resolution  to  consult  the  Edinburgh  lawyer. 
I  sent  my  note  to  Mr.  Playmore  by  a  messenger,  and  received 
the  kindest  reply  in  return.  If  I  would  wait  until  the  after- 
noon, he  would  get  the  day's  business  done,  and  would  take 
us  to  Gleninch  in  his  own  carriage. 

Benjamin's  obstinacy — in  its  own  quiet  way,  and  on  cer- 
tain occasions  only — was  quite  a  match  for  mine.  He  had 
privately  determined,  as  one  of  the  old  generation,  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  Gleninch.  Not  a  word  on  the  subject 
escaped  him  until  Mr.  Playmore's  carriage  was  at  the  hotel 
door.  At  that  appropriate  moment  Benjamin  remembered 


252  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY. 

an  old  friend  of  his  in  Edinburgh.  "Will  you  please  to  ex- 
cuse me,  Valeria  ?  My  friend's  name  is  Saunders ;  and  he 
will  take  it  unkindly  of  me  if  I  don't  dine  with  him  to-day." 

Apart  frdm  the  associations  that  I  connected  with  it,  there 
was  nothing  to  interest  a  traveler  at  Gleninch. 

The  country  around  was  pretty  and  well  cultivated,  and 
nothing  more.  The  park  was,  to  an  English  eye,  wild  and 
badly  kept.  The  house  had  been  built  within  the  last  sev- 
enty or  eighty  years.  Outside,  it  was  as  bare  of  all  orna- 
ment as  a  factory,  and  as  gloomily  heavy  in  effect  as  a  prison. 
Inside,  the  deadly  dreariness,  the  close,  oppressive  solitude 
of  a  deserted  dwelling  wearied  the  eye  and  weighed  on  the 
mind,  from  the  roof  to  the  basement.  The  house  had  been 
sjiut  up  since  the  time  of  the  Trial.  A  lonely  old  couple, 
man  and  wife,  had  the  keys  and  the  charge  of  it.  The  man 
shook  his  head  in  silent  and  sorrowful  disapproval  of  our  in- 
trusion when  Mr.  Playmore  ordered  him  to  open  the  doors 
and  shutters,  and  let  the  light  in  on  the  dark,  deserted  place. 
Fires  were  burning  in  the  library  and  the  picture-gallery,  to 
preserve  the  treasures  which  they  contained  from  the  damp. 
It  was  not  easy,  at  first,  to  look  at  the  cheerful  blaze  with- 
out fancying  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  house  must  surely 
come  in  and  warm  themselves.  Ascending  to  the  upper 
floor,  I  saw  the  rooms  made  familiar  to  me  by  the  Report  of 
the  Trial.  I  entered  the  little  study,  with  the  old  books  on 
the  shelves,  and  the  key  still  missing  from  the  locked  door 
of  communication  with  the  bedchamber.  I  looked  into  the 
room  in  which  the  unhappy  mistress  of  Gleninch  had  suffered 
and  died.  The  bed  was  left  in  its  place ;  the  sofa  on  which 
the  nurse  had  snatched  her  intervals  of  repose  was  at  its 
foot;-  the  Indian  cabinet,  in  which  the  crumpled  paper  with 
the  grains  of  arsenic  had  been  found,  still  held  its  little  col- 
lection of  curiosities.  I  moved  on  its  pivot  the  invalid-table 
on  which  she  had  taken  her  meals  and  written  her  poems, 
poor  soul.  The  place  was  dreary  and  dreadful;  the  heavy 
air  felt  as  if  it  were  still  burdened  with  its  horrid  load  of 
misery  and  distrust.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  (after  a  passing 
glance  at  the  room  which  Eustace  had  occupied  in  those 
days)*nto  the  Guests'  Corridor.  There  was  the  bedroom, 
at  the  door  of  which  Miserrimus  Dexter  had  waited  and 
watched.  There  was  the  oaken  floor  along  which  he  had 


STOPPED,   AND    LOOKED   AT    THE    DUST  AND  ASHES,   AT   THE    tROKEN  CROCKERY 
AND    THE  .OI,R    IRON." 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  253 

hopped,  in  his  horrible  way,  following  the  footsteps  of  the 
servant  disguised  in  her  mistress's  clothes.  Go  where  I 
might,  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  and  the  absent  were  with  me, 
step  by  step.  Go  where  I  might,  the  lonely  horror  of  the 
house  had  its  still  and  awful  voice  for  Me:  "I keep  the  se- 
cret of  the  Poison  !  I  hide  the  mystery  of  the  death  !" 

The  oppression  of  the  place  became  unendurable.  I  longed 
for  the  pure  sky  and  the  free  air.  My  companion  noticed 
and  understood  me. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  We  have  had  enough  of  the  house. 
Let  us  look  at  the  grounds." 

In  the  gray  quiet  of  the  evening  we  roamed  about  the 
lonely  gardens,  and  threaded  our  way  through  the  rank,  neg- 
lected shrubberies.  Wandering  here  and  wandering  there, 
we  drifted  into  the  kitchen  garden — with  one  little  patch  still 
sparely  cultivated  by  the  old  man  and  his  wife,  and  all  the 
rest  a  wilderness  of  weeds.  Beyond  the  far  end  of  the  gar- 
den, divided  from  it  by  a  low  paling  of  wood,  there  stretched 
a  patch  of  waste  ground,  sheltered  on  three  sides  by  trees. 
In  one  lost  corner  of  the  ground  an  object,  common  enough 
elsewhere,  attracted  my  attention  here.  The  object  was  a 
dust-heap.  The  great  size  of  it,  and  the  curious  situation  in 
which  it  was  placed,  aroused  a  moment's  languid  curiosity  in 
me.  I  stopped,  and  looked  at  the  dust  and  ashes,  at  the 
broken  crockery  and  the  old  iron.  Here  there  was  a  torn 
hat,  and  there  some  fragments  of  rotten  old  boots,  and 
scattered  around  a  small  attendant  litter  of  torn  paper  and 
frowzy  rags. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?"  asked  Mr.  Playmore. 

"At  nothing  more  remarkable  than  the  dust-heap,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  In  tidy  England,  I  suppose,  you  would  have  all  that  cart- 
ed away  out  of  sight,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  We  don't  mind  in 
Scotland,  as  long  as  the  dust-heap  is  far  enough  away  not  to 
be  smelt  at  the  house.  Besides,  some  of  it,  sifted,  comes  in 
usefully  as  manure  for  the  garden.  Here  the  place  is  de- 
serted, and  the  rubbish  in  consequence  has  not  been  dis- 
turbed. Every  thing  at  Gleninch,  Mrs.  Eustace  (the  big 
dust-heap  included),  is  waiting  for  the  new  mistress  to  set  it 
to  rights.  One  of  these  days  you  may  be  queen  here — who 
knows?" 

"I  shall  never  see  this  place  again,"  I  said. 
M 


254  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Never  is  a  long  day,"  returned  my  companion.  "  And 
time  has  its  surprises  in  store  for  all  of  us." 

We  turned  away,  and  walked  back  in  silence  to  the  park 
gate,  at  which  the  carriage  was  waiting. 

On  the  return  to  Edinburgh,  Mr.  Playmore  directed  the 
conversation  to  .topics  entirely  unconnected  with  my  visit  to 
Gleninch.  He  saw  that  my  mind  stood  in  need  of  relief; 
and  he  most  good-naturedly,  and  successfully,  exerted  himself 
to  amuse  me.  It  was  not  until  we  were  close  to  the  city 
that  he  touched  on  the  subject  of  my  return  to  London. 

"  Have  you  decided  yet  on  the  day  when  you  leave  Edin- 
burgh ?"  he  asked. 

"  We  leave  Edinburgh,"  I  replied,  "  by  the  train  of  to- 
morrow morning." 

"Do  you  still  see  no  reason  to  alter  the  opinions  which 
you  expressed  yesterday  ?  Does  your  speedy  departure 
mean  that  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  it  does,  Mr.  Playmore.  When  I  am  an  older 
woman,  I  may  be  a  wiser  woman.  In  the  mean  time,  I  can 
only  trust  to  your  indulgence  if  I  still  blindly  blunder  on 
in  my  own  way." 

He  smiled  pleasantly,  and  patted  my  hand — then  changed 
on  a  sudden,  and  looked  at  me  gravely  and  attentively  be- 
fore he  opened  his  lips  again. 

"  This  is  my  last  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you  before 
you  go,"  he  said.  "  May  I  speak  freely  ?" 

"As  freely  as  you  please,  Mr.  Playmore.  Whatever  you 
may  say  to  me  will  only  add  to  my  grateful  sense  of  your 
kindness." 

"I  have  very  little  to  say, Mrs. Eustace  —  and  that  little 
begins  with  a  word  of  caution.  You  told  me  yesterday  that, 
when  you  paid  your  last  visit  to  Miserrimus  Dexter,  you 
went  to  him  alone.  Don't  do  that  again.  Take  somebody 
with  you." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  in  any  danger,  then  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  I  only  think 
that  a  friend  may  be  useful  in  keeping  Dexter's  audacity  (he 
is  one  of  the  most  impudent  men  living)  within  proper  lim- 
its. Then,  again,  in  case  any  thing  worth  remembering  and 
acting  on  should  fall  from  him  in  his  talk,  a  friend  may  be  val- 
uable as  witness.  In  your  place,  I  should  have  a  witness  with 
me  who  could  take  notes — but  then  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  my 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  255 

business  is  to  make  a  fuss  about  trifles.  Let  me  only  say — go 
with  a  companion  when  you  next  visit  Dexter;  and  be  on  your 
guard  against  yourself  when  your  talk  turns  on  Mrs.  Beauly." 

"  On  my  guard  against  myself?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Practice,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eustace,  has  given  me  an  eye  for 
the  little  weaknesses  of  human  nature.  You  are  (quite  nat: 
urally)  disposed  to  be  jealous  of  Mrs.  Beauly  ;  and  you  are, 
in  consequence,  not  in  full  possession  of  your  excellent  com- 
mon-sense when  Dexter  uses  that  lady  as  a  means  of  blind- 
folding you.  Am  I  speaking  too  freely  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  It  is  very  degrading  to  me  to  be  jealous 
of  Mrs.  Beauly.  My  vanity  suffers  dreadfully  when  I  think 
of  it.  But  my  common-sense  yields  to  conviction.  I  dare 
say  you  are  right." 

"I  am  delighted  to  find  that  we  agree  on  one  point,"  he 
rejoined,  drily.  "  I  don't  despair  yet  of  convincing  you  in 
that  far  more  serious  matter  which  is  still  in  dispute  between 
us.  And,  what  is  more,  if  you  will  throw  no  obstacles  in  the 
way,  I  look  to  Dexter  himself  to  help  me." 

This  aroused  my  curiosity.  How  Miserrimus  Dexter  could 
help  him,  in  that  or  in  any  other  way,  was  a  riddle  beyond 
my  reading. 

"  You  propose  to  repeat  to  Dexter  all  that  Lady  Clarinda 
told  you  about  Mrs. Beauly,"  he  went  on.  "And  you  think 
it  is  likely  that  Dexter  will  be  overwhelmed,  as  you  were 
overwhelmed,  when  he  hears  the  story.  I  am  going  to  vent- 
ure on  a  prophecy.  I  say  that  Dexter  Avill  disappoint  you. 
Far  from  showing  any  astonishment,  he  will  boldly  tell  you 
that  you  have  been  duped  by  a  deliberately  false  statement 
of  facts,  invented  and  set  afloat,  in  her  own  guilty  interests, 
by  Mrs.  Beauly.  Now  tell  me — if  he  really  try,  in  that  way, 
to  renew  your  unfounded  suspicion  of  an  innocent  woman, 
will  t/tat  shake  your  confidence  in  your  own  opinion?" 

"It  will  entirely  destroy  my  confidence  in  my  own  opin- 
ion, Mr.  Playmore." 

"Very  good.  I  shall  expect  you  to  write  to  me,  in  any 
rase  ;  and  I  believe  we  shall  be  of  one  mind  before  the  Aveek 
is  out.  Keep  strictly  secret  all  that  I  said  to  you  yesterday 
abotlt  Dexter.  Don't  even  mention  my  name  when  you  see 
him.  Thinking  of  him  as  I  think  now,  I  would  as  soon  touch 
the  hand  of  the  hangman  as  the  hand  of  that  monster  !  God 
bk-ss  you  !  Good-by." 


256  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

So  he  said  his  farewell  words,  at  the  door  of  the  hotel. 
Kind,  genial,  clever  —  but  oh,  how  easily  prejudiced,  how 
shockingly  obstinate  in  holding  to  his  own  opinion!  And 
what  an  opinion  !  I  shuddered  as  I  thought  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MR.  PLAYMOKE'S  PROPHECY. 

WE  reached  London  between  eight  and  nine  in  the  even- 
ing. Strictly  methodical  in  all  his  habits,  Benjamin  had  tel- 
egraphed to  his  housekeeper,  from  Edinburgh,  to  have  sup- 
per ready  for  us  by  ten  o'clock,  and  to  send  the  cabman  whom 
he  always  employed  to  meet  us  at  the  station. 

Ai-riving  at  the  villa,  we  were  obliged  to  wait  for  a  mo- 
ment to  let  a  pony-chaise  get  by  us  before  we  could  draw  up 
at  Benjamin's  door.  The  chaise  passed  very  slowly,  driven 
by  a  rough-looking  man,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  But  for 
the  man,  I  might  have  doubted  whether  the  pony  was  quite 
a  stranger  to  me.  As  things  were,  I  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter. 

Benjamin's  respectable  old  housekeeper  opened  the  gar- 
den gate,  and  startled  me  by  bursting  into  a  devout  ejacula- 
tion of  gratitude  at  the  sight  of  her  master.  "  The  Lord  be 
praised,  sir !"  she  cried ;  "  I  thought  you  would  never  come 
back !" 

"Any  thing  wrong?"  asked  Benjamin,  in  his  own  impene- 
trably quiet  way. 

The  housekeeper  trembled  at  the  question,  and  answered 
in  these  enigmatical  words  : 

"My  mind's  upset,  sir;  and  whether  things  are  wrong  or 
whether  things  are  right  is  more  than  I  can  say.  Hours 
ago,  a  strange  man  came  in  and  asked" — she  stopped, as  if 
she  were  completely  bewildered — looked  for  a  moment  va- 
cantly at  her  master — and  suddenly  addressed  herself  to  me. 
"  And  asked,"  she  proceeded,  "  when  you  was  expected  back, 
ma'am.  I  told  him  what  my  master  had  telegraphed,  and 
the  man  says  upon  that,  'Wait  a  bit,'  he  says;  'I'm  com- 
ing back.'  He  came  back  in  a  minute  or  less  ;  and  he  car- 
ried a  Thing  in  his  arms  which  curdled  my  blood — it  did ! — 
and  set  me  shaking  from  the  crown  of  my  head  to- the  sole 


THE  LAW  AND  TUB  LADY.  257 

of  my  foot.  I  know  I  ought  to  have  stopped  it;  but  I 
couldn't  stand  upon  my  legs,  much  less  put  the  man  out  of 
the  house.  In  he  went,  without  *  icith  your  leave,'  or  '  by  your 
leave,'  Mr.  Benjamin,  sir — in  he  went,  with  the  Thing  in  his 
arms,  straight  through  to  your  library.  And  there  It  has 
been  all  these  hours.  And  there  It  is  now.  I've  spoken  to 
the  police ;  but  they  wouldn't  interfere ;  and  what  to  do 
next  is  more  than  my  poor  head  can  tell.  Don't  you  go  in 
by  yourself,  ma'am !  You'll  be  frightened  out  of  your  wits 
— you  will  !" 

I  persisted  in  entering  the  house,  for  all  that.  Aided  by  the 
pony,  I  easily  solved  the  mystery  of  the  housekeeper's  other- 
wise unintelligible  narrative.  Passing  through  the  dining- 
room  (where  the  supper-table  was  already  laid  for  us),  I 
looked  through  the  half-opened  library  door. 

Yes,  there  was  Aliserrimus  Dexter,  arrayed  in  his  pink 
jacket,  fast  asleep  in  Benjamin's  favorite  arm-chair !  No  cov- 
erlet hid  his  horrible  deformity.  Nothing  was  sacrificed  to 
conventional  ideas  of  propriety  in  his  extraordinary  dress. 
I  could  hardly  wonder  that  the  poor  old  housekeeper  trem- 
bled from  head  to  foot  when  she  spoke  of  him. 

"  Valeria,"  said  Benjamin,  pointing  to  the  Portent  in  the 
chair.  "  Which  is  it — an  Indian  idol,  or  a  man  ?" 

I  have  already  described  Miserrimus  Dexter  as  possessing 
the  sensitive  ear  of  a  dog:  he 'now  showed  that  he  also 
slept  the  light  sleep  of  a  dog.  Quietly  as  Benjamin  had 
spoken,  the  strange  voice  aroused  him  on  the  instant.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  smiled  as  innocently  as  a  waking  child. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs. Valeria ?"  he  said.  "I  have  had  a 
nice  little  sleep.  You  don't  know  how  happy  I  am  to  see 
you  again.  Who  is  this?" 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  once  more,  and  looked  at  Benjamin. 
Not  knowing  what  else  to  do  in  this  extraordinary  emer- 
gency, I  presented  my  visitor  to  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Excuse  my  getting  up,  sir,"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter.  "I 
can't  get  up — I  have  got  no  legs.  You  look  as  if  you  thought 
I  was  occupying  your  chair?  If  I  am  committing  an  intru- 
sion, be  so  good  as  to  put  your  umbrella  under  me,  and  give 
me  a  jerk.  I  shall  fall  on  my  hands,  and  I  slm'n't  be  offend- 
ed with  you.  I  will  submit  to  a  tumble  and  a  scolding — but 
please  don't  break  my  heart  by  sending  me  away.  That 
beautiful  woman  there  can  be  very  cruel  sometimes,  sir, 


258  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

when  the  fit  takes  her.  She  went  away  when  I  stood  in  the 
sorest  need  of  a  little  talk  with  her — she  went  away,  and 
left  me  to  my  loneliness  and  my  suspense.  I  am  a  poor  de- 
formed wretch,  with  a  warm  heart,  and,  perhaps,  an  insatia- 
ble curiosity  as  well.  Insatiable  curiosity  (have  you  ever 
felt  it  ?)  is  a  curse.  I  bore  it  until  my  brains  began  to  boil 
in  my  head ;  and  then  I  sent  for  my  gardener,  and  made  him 
drive  me  here.  I  like  being  here.  The  air  of  your  library 
soothes  me;  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Valeria  is  balm  to  my  wound- 
ed heart.  She  has  something  to  tell  me — something  that  I 
am  dying  to  hear.  If  she  is  not  too  tired  after  her  journey, 
and  if  you  will  let  her  tell  it,  I  promise  to  have  myself  taken 
away  when  she  has  done.  Dear  Mr.  Benjamin,  you  look  like 
the  refuge  of  the  afflicted.  I  am  afflicted.  Shake  hands  like 
a  good  Christian,  and  take  me  in." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  His  soft  blue  eyes  melted  into  an 
expression  of  piteous  entreaty.  Completely  stupefied  by  the 
amazing  harangue  of  which  he  had  been  made  the  object, 
Benjamin  took  the  offered  hand,  with  the  air  of  a  man  in  a 
dream.  "  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,"  he  said,  mechanically 
— and  then  looked  around  at  me,  to  know  what  he  was  to  do 
next. 

"  I  understand  Mr.  Dexter,"  I  whispered.  "  Leave  him  to 
me."  ' 

Benjamin  stole  a  last  bewildered  look  at  the  Object  in  the 
chair ;  bowed  to  it,  with  the  instinct  of  politeness  which 
never  failed  him ;  and  (still  with  the  air  of  a  man  in  a  dream) 
withdrew  into  the  next  room. 

Left  together,  we  looked  at  each  other,  for  the  first  mo- 
ment, in  silence. 

Whether  I  unconsciously  drew  on  that  inexhaustible  store 
of  indulgence  which  a  woman  always  keeps  in  reserve  for  a 
man  who  owns  that  he  has  need  of  her,  or  whether,  resent- 
ing as  I  did  Mr.  Playmore's  horrible  suspicion  of  him,  my 
heart  was  especially  accessible  to  feelings  of  compassion  in 
his  unhappy  case,  I  can  not  tell.  I  only  know  that  I  pitied 
Miserrimtrs  Dexter  at  that  moment  as  I  had  never  pitied 
him  yet;  and  that  I  spared  him  the  reproof  which  I  should 
certainly  have  administered  to  any  other  man  who  had 
taken  the  liberty  of  establishing  himself,  uninvited,  in  Ben- 
jamin's house. 

He  was  the  first  to  speak. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  259 

"  Lady  Clarinda  has  destroyed  your  confidence  in  me  !" 
he  began,  wildly. 

"  Lady  Clarinda  has  done  nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  replied. 
"  She  has  not  attempted  to  influence  my  opinion.  I  was 
really  obliged  to  leave  London,  as  I  told  you." 

He  sighed,  and  closed  his  eyes  contentedly,  as  if  I  had  re- 
lieved him  of  a  heavy  weight  of  anxiety. 

"  Be  merciful  to  me,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  me  something 
more.  I  have  been  so  miserable  in  your  absence."  He  sud- 
denly opened  his  eyes  again,  and  looked  at  me  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  the  greatest  interest.  "Are  you  very  much  fa- 
tigued by  traveling  ?"  he  proceeded.  "  I  am  hungry  for 
news  of  what  happened  at  the  Major's  dinner-party.  Is  it 
cruel  of  me  to  tell  you  so,  when  you  have  not  rested  after 
your  journey?  Only  one  question  to-night,  and  .1  will 
leave  the  rest  till  to-morrow.  What  did  Lady  Clarinda  say 
about  Mrs'.  Beauly  ?  All  that  you  wanted  to  hear  ?" 

"  All,  and  more,"  I  answered. 

"What?  what?  what?"  he  cried,  wild  with  impatience 
in  a  moment. 

Mr.Playmore's  last  prophetic  words  were  vividly  present 
to  my  mind.  He  had  declared,  in  the  most  positive  manner, 
that  Dexter  would  persist  in  misleading  me,  and  would  show 
no  signs  of  astonishment  when  I  repeated  what  Lady  Clarin- 
da had  told  me  of  Mrs.  Beauly.  I  resolved  to  put  the  law- 
yer's prophecy — so  far  as  the  question  of  astonishment  was 
concerned  —  to  the  sharpest  attainable  test.  I  said  not  a 
word  to  Miserrimus  Dexter  in  the  way  of  preface  or  prepara- 
tion :  I  burst  on  him  with  my  news  as  abruptly  as  possible. 

"  The  person  you  saw  in  the  corridor  was  not  Mrs.  Beauly," 
I  said.  "It  was  the  maid,  dressed  in  her  mistress's  cloak 
and  hat.  Mrs.  Beauly  herself  was  not  in  the  house  at  all. 
Mrs.  Beauly  herself  was  dancing  at  a  masked  ball  in  Edin- 
burgh. There  is  what  the  maid  told  Lady  Clarinda  ;  and 
there  is  what  Lady  Clarinda  told  me." 

In  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  moment,  I  poured  out  those 
words  one  after  another  as  fast  as  they  would  pass  my  lips. 
Miserrimus  Dexter  completely  falsified  the  lawyer's  predic- 
tion, lie  shuddered  under  the  shock.  His  eyes  opened 
wide  with  amazement.  "  Say  it  again  !"  he  cried.  "  I  can't 
take  it  all  in  at  once.  You  stun  me." 

I  was  more  than  contented  with  this  result — I  triumphed 


200  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

in  my  victory.  For  once,  I  had  really  some  reason  to  feel 
satisfied  with  myself.  I  had  taken  the  Christian  and  merci- 
ful side  in  my  discussion  with -Mr.  Play  more;  and  I  had  won 
my  reward.  I  could  sit  in  the  same  room  with  Miserrimus 
Dexter,  and  feel  the  blessed  conviction  that  I  was  not  breath- 
ing the  same  air  with  a  poisoner.  Was  it  not  worth  the  vis- 
it to  Edinburgh  to  have  made  sure  of  that  ? 

In  repeating,  at  his  own  desire,  what  I  had  already  said  to 
him,  I  took  care  to  add  the  details  which  made  Lady  Clarin- 
da's  narrative  coherent  and  credible.  He  listened  through- 
out with  breathless  attention — here  and  there  repeating  the 
words  after  me,  to  impress  them  the  more  surely  and  the 
more  deeply  on  his  mind. 

"  What  is  to  be  said  ?  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  asked, 
with  a  look  of  blank  despair.  "  I  can't  disbelieve  it.  From 
first  to  last,  strange  as  it  is,  it  sounds  true." 

(How  would  Mr.  Playmore  have  felt  if  he  had  heard  those 
words?  I  did  him  the  justice  to  believe  that  he  would  have 
felt  heartily  ashamed  of  himself.) 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  said,"  I  rejoined,  " except  that 
Mrs.  Beauly  is  innocent,  and  that  you  and  I  have  done  her  a 
grievous  wrong.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?" 

"I  entirely  agree  with  you,"  he  answered,  without  an  in- 
stant's hesitation.  "  Mrs.  Beauly  is  an  innocent  woman. 
The  defense  at  the  Trial  was  the  right  defense  after  all." 

He  folded  his  arms  complacently ;  he  looked  perfectly  sat- 
isfied to  leave  the  matter  there. 

I  was  not  of  his  mind.  To  my  own  amazement,  I  now 
found  myself  the  least  reasonable  person  of  the  two  ! 

Miserrimus  Dexter  (to  use  the  popular  phrase)  had  given 
me  more  than  I  had  bargained  for.  He  had  not  only  done 
all  that  I  had  anticipated  in  the  way  of  falsifying  Mr.  Play- 
more's  prediction  —  he  had  actually  advanced  beyond  my 
limits.  I  could  go  the  length  of  recognizing  Mrs.  Beauly's 
innocence ;  but  at  that  point  I  stopped.  If  the  Defense  at 
the  Trial  were  the  right  defense,  farewell  to  all  hope  of  as- 
serting my  husband's  innocence.  I  held  to  that  hope  as  I 
held  to  my  love  and  my  life. 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  I  said.  "  My  opinion  of  the  Defense 
remains  unchanged." 

He  started,  and  knit  his  brows  as  if  I  had  disappointed  and 
displeased  him. 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  261 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  are  determined  to  go  on  ?" 

"  It  does." 

He  was  downright  angry  with  me.  He  cast  his  customary 
politeness  to  the  winds. 

"Absurd!  impossible!"  he  cried,  contemptuously.  "You 
have  yourself  declared  that  we  wronged  an  innocent  woman 
when  we  suspected  Mrs.  Beauly.  Is  there  any  one  else  whom 
we  can  suspect  ?  It  is  ridiculous  to  ask  the  question.  There 
is  no  alternative  left  but  to  accept  the  facts  as  they  are,  and 
to  stir  no  farther  in  the  matter  of  the  poisoning  at  Gleninch. 
It  is  childish  to  dispute  plain  conclusions.  You  must  give 
up." 

"  You  may  be  angry  with  me  if  you  will,  Mr.  Dexter. 
Neither  your  anger  nor  your  arguments  will  make  me  give 
up." 

He  controlled  himself  by  an  effort — he  was  quiet  and  po- 
lite again  when  he  next  spoke  to  me. 

"  Very  well.  Pardon  me  for  a  moment  if  I  absorb  my- 
self in  my  own  thoughts.  I  want  to  do  something  which  I 
have  not  done  yet." 

"  What  may  that  be,  Mr.  Dexter  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  put  myself  into  Mrs.  Beauly's  skin,  and  to 
think  with  Mrs.  Beauly's  mind.  Give  me  a  minute.  Thank 
you." 

What  did  he  mean  ?  what  new  transformation  of  him  was 
passing  before  my  eyes  ?  Was  there  ever  such  a  puzzle  of  a 
man  as  this  ?  Who  that  saw  him  now,  intently  pursuing  his 
new  train  of  thought,  would  have  recognized  him  as  the 
childish  creature  who  had  awoke  so  innocently,  and  had  aston- 
ished Benjamin  by  the  infantine  nonsense  which  he  talked  ? 
It  is  said,  and  said  truly,  that  there  are  many  sides  to  every 
human  character.  Dexter's  many  sides  were  developing 
themselves  at  such  a  rapid  rate  of  progress  that  they  were 
already  beyond  my  counting. 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  fixed  a  look  of  keen  inquiry  on  me. 

"  I  have  come  out  of  Mrs.  Beauly's  skin,"  he  announced. 
"  And  I  have  arrived  at  this  result :  We  are  two  impetuous 
people ;  and  we  have  been  a  little  hasty  in  rushing  at  a  con- 
clusion." 

lie  stopped.  I  said  nothing.  Was  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 
of  him  beginning  to  rise  in  my  mind  ?  I  waited,  and  listened. 

"  I  am  as  fully  satisfied  as  ever  of  the  truth  of  what  Lady 
M  •_> 


262  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Clarinda  told  you,"  he  proceeded.  "  But  I  see,  on  consider- 
ation, what  I  failed  to  see  at  the  time.  The  story  admits  of 
two  interpretations — one  on  the  surface,  and  another  under 
the  surface.  I  look  under  the  surface,  in  your  interests ;  and 
I  say,  it  is  just  possible  that  Mrs.  Beauly  may  have  been  cun- 
ning enough  to  forestall  suspicion,  and  to  set  up  an  Alibi." 

I  am  ashamed  to  own  that  I  did  not  understand  what  he 
meant  by  the  last  word — Alibi.  He  saw  that  I  was  not  fol- 
lowing him,  and  spoke  out  more  plainly. 

"  Was  the  maid  something  more  than  her  mistress's  pas- 
sive accomplice  ?"  he  said.  "  Was  she  the  Hand  that  her 
mistress  used  ?  Was  she  on  her  way  to  give  the  first  dose 
of  poison  when  she  passed  me  in  the  corridor?  Did  Mrs. 
Beauly  spend  the  night  in  Edinburgh — so  as  to  have  her  de- 
fense ready,  if  suspicion  fell  upon  her?" 

My  shadowy  doubt  of  him  became  substantial  doubt  when 
I  heard  that.  Had  I  absolved  him  a  little  too  readily  ?  Was 
he  really  trying  to  renew  my  suspicions  of  Mrs.  Beauly,  as 
Mr.  Playmore  had  foretold?  This  time  I  was  obliged  to  an- 
swer him.  In  doing  so,  I  unconsciously  employed  one  of 
the  phrases  which  the  lawyer  had  used  to  me  during  my 
first  interview  with  him, 

"That  sounds  rather  far-fetched,  Mr.  Dexter,"  I  said.. 

To  my  relief,  he  made  no  attempt  to  defend  the  new  view 
that  he  had  advanced. 

"  It  is  far-fetched,"  he  admitted.  "  When  I  said  it  was 
just  possible — though  I  didn't  claim  much  for  my  idea — I 
said  more  for  it  perhaps  than  it  deserved.  Dismiss  my  view 
as  ridiculous ;  what  are  you  to  do  next  ?  If  Mrs.  Beauly  is 
not  the  poisoner  (either  by  herself  or  by  her  maid),  who  is  ? 
She  is  innocent,  and  Eustace  is  innocent.  Where  is  the 
other  person  whom  you  can  suspect?  Have  I  poisoned 
her?"  he  cried,  with  his  eyes  flashing,  and  his  voice  rising 
to- its  highest  notes.  "Do  you,  does  any  body,  suspect  Me? 
I  loved  her;  I  adored  her;  I  have  never  been  the  same  man 
since  her  death.  Hush  !  I  will  trust  you  with  a  secret. 
(Don't  tell  your  husband;  it  might  be  the  destruction  of 
our  friendship.)  I  would  have  married  her,  before  she  met 
with  Eustace,  if  she  would  have  taken  me.  When  the  doc- 
tors told  me  she  had  died  poisoned — ask  Doctor  Jerome 
what  I  suffered  ;  he  can  tell  you  !  All  through  that  horrible 
night  I  was  awake ;  watching  my  opportunity  until  I  found 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  2C3 

ray  way  to  her.  I  got  into  the  room,  and  took  my  last 
leave  of  the  cold  remains  of  the  angel  whom  I  loved.  I  cried 
over  her.  I  kissed  her,  for  the  first  and  last  time.  I  stole 
one  little  lock  of  her  hair.  I  have  worn  it  ever  since ;  I  have 
kissed  it  night  and  day.  Oh,  God !  the  room  comes  back  to 
me  !  the  dead  face  comes  back  to  me  !  Look  !  look !" 

He  tore  from  its  place  of  concealment  in  his  bosom  a  little 
locket,  fastened  by  a  ribbon  around  his  neck.  He  threw  it  to 
me  where  I  sat,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

A  man  in  my  place  might  have  known  what  to  do.  Being 
only  a  woman,  I  yielded  to  the  compassionate  impulse  of  the 
moment. 

I  got  up  and  crossed  the  room  to  him.  I  gave  him  back 
bis  locket,  and  put  my  hand,  without  knowing  what  I  was 
about,  on  the  poor  wretch's  shoulder.  "I  am  incapable  of 
suspecting  you,  Mr.  Dexter,"  I  said,  gently.  "  Xo  such  idea 
ever  entered  my  head.  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart." 

He  caught  my  hand  in  his,  and  devoured  it  with  kisses. 
His  lips  burned  me  like  fire.  He  twisted  himself  suddenly  in 
the  chair,  and  wound  his  arm  around  my  waist.  In  the  terror 
and  indignation  of  the  moment,  vainly  struggling  with  him, 
I  cried  out  for  help. 

The  door  opened,  and  Benjamin  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
Dexter  let  go  his  hold  of  me. 

I  ran  to  Benjamin,  and  prevented  him  from  advancing  into 
the  room.  In  all  my  long  experience  of  my  fatherly  old 
friend  I  had  never  seen  him  really  angry  yet.  I  saw  him 
more  than  angry,  now.  He  was  pale — the  patient,  gentle  old 
man  was  pale  with  rage!  I  held  him  at  the  door  with  all 
my  strength. 

"You  can't  lay  your  hand  on  a  cripple,"  I  said.  "Send 
for  the  man  outside  to  take  him  away." 

I  drew  Benjamin  out  of  the  room,  and  closed  and  locked 
the  library  door.  The  housekeeper  was  in  the  dining-room. 
I  sent  her  out  to  call  the  driver  of  the  pony-chaise  into  the 
house. 

The  man  came  in — the  rough  man  whom  I  had  noticed 
when  we  were  approaching  the  garden  gate.  Benjamin 
opened  the  library  door  in  stern  silence.  It  was  perhaps 
unworthy  of  me,  but  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
look  in. 


264  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Miserrimus  Dexter  had  sunk  down  in  the  chair.  The 
rough  man  lifted  his  master  with  a  gentleness  that  surprised 
me.  "  Hide  my  face,"  I  heard  Dexter  say  to  him,  in  broken 
tones.  He  opened  his  coarse  pilot-jacket,  and  hid  his  mas- 
ter's head  under  it,  and  so  went  silently  out — with  the  de- 
formed creature  held  to  his  bosom,  like  a  woman  sheltering 
her  child. 


CHAPTER  XXXYL 


I  PASSED  a  sleepless  night.    . 

The  outrage  that  had  been  offered  to  me  was  bad  enough 
in  itself.  But  consequences  were  associated  with  it  which 
might  affect  me  more  seriously  still.  In  so  far  as  the  attain- 
ment of  the  one  object  of  my  life  might  yet  depend  on  my 
personal  association  with  Miserrimus  Dexter,  an  insurmount- 
able obstacle  appeared  to  be  now  placed  in  my  way.  Even 
in  my  husband's  interests,  ought  I  to  permit  a  man  who  had 
grossly  insulted  me  to  approach  me  again  ?  Although  I  was 
no  prude,  I  recoiled  from  the  thought  of  it. 

I  arose  late,  and  sat  down  at  my  desk,  trying  to  summon 
energy  enough  to  write  to  Mr.  Playmore —  and  trying  in 
vain. 

Toward  noon  (while  Benjamin  happened  to  be  out  for  a 
little  while)  the  housekeeper  announced  the  arrival  of  an- 
other strange  visitor  at  the  gate  of  the  villa. 

"  It's  a  woman  this  time,  ma'am — or  something  like  one," 
said  this  worthy  person,  confidentially.  "A  great,  stout, 
awkward,  stupid  creature,  with  a  man's  hat  on,  and  a  man's 
stick  in  her  hand.  She  says  she  has  got  a  note  for  you,  and 
she  won't  give  it  to  any  body  but  you.  I'd  better  not  let 
her  in— had  I?" 

Recognizing  the  original  of  the  picture,  I  astonished  the 
housekeeper  by  consenting  to  receive  the  messenger  imme- 
diately. 

Ariel  entered  the  room — in  stolid  silence,  as  usual.  But  I 
noticed  a  change  in  her  which  puzzled  me.  Her  dull  eyes 
Avere  red  and  bloodshot.  Traces  of  tears  (as  I  fancied)  were 
visible  on  her  fat,  shapeless  cheeks.  She  crossed  the  room, 


THE   LAW   AXD   THE   LADY.  265 

on  her  way  to  my  chair,  with  a  less  determined  tread  than 
was  customary  with  her.  Could  Ariel  (I  asked  myself)  be 
woman  enough  to  cry  ?  "Was  it  within  the  limits  of  possi- 
bility that  Ariel  should  approach  tne  in  sorrow  and  in  fear  ? 

"  I  hear  you  have  brought  something  for  me  ?"  I  said. 
"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

She  handed  me  a  letter — without  answering,  and  without 
taking  a  chair.  I  opened,  the  envelope.  The  letter  inside 
was  written  by  Miserrimus  Dexter.  It  contained  these  lines : 

"  Try  to  pity  me,  if  you  have  any  pity  left  for  a  miserable 
man ;  I  have  bitterly  expiated  the  madness  of  a  moment. 
If  you  could  see  me — even  you  would  own  that  my  punish- 
ment has  been  heavy  enough.  'For  God's  sake,  don't  aban- 
don me !  I  was  beside  myself  when  I  let  the  feeling  that 
you  have  awakened  in  me  get  the  better  of  my  control.  It 
shall  never  show  itself  again ;  it  shall  be  a  secret  that  dies 
with  me.  Can  I  expect  you  to  believe  this  ?  No.  I  won't 
ask  you  to  believe  me ;  I  won't  ask  you  to  trust  me  in  the 
future.  If  you  ever  consent  to  see  me  again,  let  it  be  in  the 
presence  of  any  third  person  whom  you  may  appoint  to  pro- 
tect you.  I  deserve  that — I  will  submit  to  it;  I  will  wait 
till  time  has  composed  your  angry  feeling  against  me.  All 
I  ask  now  is  leave  to  hope.  Say  to  Ariel, 'I  forgive  him; 
and  one  day  I  will  let  him  see  me  again.'  She  will  remember 
it,  for  love  of  me.  If  you  send  her  back  without  a  message, 
you  send  me  to  the  mad-house.  Ask  her,  if  you  don't  believe 
me.  MISERRIMUS  DEXTER." 

I  finished  the  strange  letter,  and  looked  at  Ariel. 

She  stood  .with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  held  out  to  me 
the  thick  walking-stick  which  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

"  Take  the  stick  "  were  the  first  words  she  said  to  me." 

"Why  am  I  to  take  it?"  I  asked. 

She  struggled  a  little  with  her  sluggishly  working  mind, 
and  slowly  put  her  thoughts  into  words. 

"  You're  angry  with  the  Master,"  she  said.  "Take  it  out 
on  Me.  Here's  the  stick.  Beat  me." 

"  Beat  you  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  My  back's  broad,"  said  the  poor  creature.  "  I  won't 
make  a  row.  I'll  bear  it.  Drat  you,  take  the  stick  !  Don't 
vex  him.  Whack  it  out  on  my  back.  Beat  me" 


266  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

She  roughly  forced  the  stick  into  my  hand ;  she  turned 
her  poor  shapeless  shoulders  to  me,  waiting  for  the  blow. 
It  was  at  once  dreadful  and  touching  to  see  her.  The  tears 
rose  in  my  eyes.  I  tried,  gently  and  patiently,  to  reason 
with  her.  Quite  useless  !  The  idea  of  taking  the  Master's 
punishment  on  herself  was  the  one  idea  in  her  mind.  "  Don't 
vex  him"  she  repeated.  " Beat  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  vexing  him  ?' "  I  asked. 

She  tried  to  explain,  and  failed  to  find  the  words.  She 
showed  me  by  imitation,  as  a  savage  might  have  shown  me, 
what  she  meant.  Striding  to  the  fire-place,  she  crouched  on 
the  rug,  and  looked  into  the  fire  with  a  horrible  vacant  stare. 
Then  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  forehead,  and  rocked 
slowly  to  and  fro,  still  staring  into  the  tire.  "There's  how 
he  sits !"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  speech.  "  Hours  on 
hours,  there's  how  he  sits  !  Notices  nobody.  Cries  about  you" 

The  picture  she  presented  recalled  to  my  memory  the  Re- 
port of  Dexter's  health,  and  the  doctor's  plain  warning  of 
peril  waiting  for  him  in  the  future.  Even  if  I  could  have 
resisted  Ariel,  I  must  have  yielded  to  the  vague  dread  of 
consequences  which  now  shook  me  in  secret. 

"  Don't  do  that !"  I  cried.  She  was  still  rocking  herself 
in  imitation  of  the  "Master,"  and  still  staring  into  the  fire 
with  her  hands  to  her  head.  "Get  up,  pray !  I  am  not  an- 
gry with  him  now.  I  forgive  him." 

She  rose  on  her  hands  and  knees,  and  waited,  looking  up 
intently  into  my  face.  In  that  attitude — more  like  a  dog 
than  a  human  being — she  repeated  her  customary  petition 
when  she  wanted  to  fix  words  that  interested  her  in  her  mind. 

"  Say  it  again  !" 

I  did  as  she  bade  me.     She  was  not  satisfied., 

"Say  it  as  it  is  in  the  letter,"  she  went  on.  "Say  it  as 
the  Master  said  it  to  Me." 

I  looked  back  at  the  letter,  and  repeated  the  form  of  mes- 
sage contained  in  the  latter  part  of  it,  word  for  word:  "I 
forgive.him;  and  one  day  I  will  let  him  see  me  again." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  at  a  bound.  For  the  first  time  since 
she  had  entered  the  room  her  dull  face  began  to  break  slow- 
ly into  light  and  life. 

"That's  it!"  she  cried.  "Hear  if  I  can  say  it,  too;  hear 
if  I've  got  it  by  heart." 

Teaching  her  exactly  as  I  should  have  taught  a  child,  I 
slowly  fastened  the  message,  word  by  word,  on  her  mind. 


,  THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  267 

"  Now  rest  yourself,"  I  said  ;  "  and  let  me  give  you  some- 
thing to  eat  and  drink  after  your  long  walk." 

I  might  as  well  have-  spoken  to  one  of  the  chairs.  She 
snatched  up  her  stick  from  the  floor,  and  burst  out  with  a 
hoarse  shout  of  joy.  "  I've  got  it  by  heart !"  she  cried. 
"  This  will  cool  the  Master's  head  !  Hooray  !"  She  dashed 
out  into  the  passage  like  a  wild  animal  escaping  from  its 
cage.  I  was  just  in  time  to  see  her  tear  open  the  garden 
gate,  and  set  forth  on  her  walk  back  at  a  pace  which  made 
it  hopeless  to  attempt  to  follow  and  stop  her. 

I  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  pondering  on  a  question 
which  has  perplexed  wiser  heads  than  mine.  Could  a  man 
who  was  hopelessly  and  entirely  wicked  have  inspired  such 
devoted  attachment  to  him  as  Dexter  had  inspired  in  the 
faithful  woman  who  had  just  left  me?  in  the  rough  gardener 
who  had  carried  him  out  so  gently  on  the  previous  night  ? 
Who  can  decide  ?  The  greatest  scoundrel  living  always  has 
a  friend — in  a  woman  or  a  dog. 

I  sat  down  again -at  my  desk,  and  made  another  attempt 
to  write  to  Mr.  Playmore. 

Recalling,  for  the  purpose  of  my  letter,  all  that  Miserrimus 
Dexter  had  said  to  me,  my  memory  dwelt  with  special  in- 
terest on  the  strange  outbreak  of  feeling  which  had  led  him 
to  betray  the  secret  of  his  infatuation  for  Eustace's  first 
wife.  I  saw  again  the  ghastly  scene  in  the  death-chamber — 
the  deformed  creature  crying  over  the  corpse  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  first  dark  hours  of  the  new  day.  The  horrible 
picture  took  a  strange  hold  on  my  mind.  I  arose,  and  walked 
up  and  down,  and  tried  to  turn  my  thoughts  some  other  way. 
It  was  not  to  be  done:  the  scene  was  too  familiar  to  me  to 
be  easily  dismissed.  I  had  myself  visited  the  room  and 
looked  at  the  bed.  I  had  myself  walked  in  the  corridor 
which  Dexter  had  crossed  on  his  way  to  take  his  last  leave 
of  her. 

The  corridor?  I  stopped.  My  thoughts  suddenly  took  a 
new  direction,  uninfluenced  by  any  effort  of  my  will. 

AVliat  other  association  besides  the  association  with  Dex- 
ter did  I  connect  with  the  corridor  ?  Was  it  something  I 
had  seen  during  my  visit  to  Gleninch?  No.  Was  it  some- 
thing I  had  read  ?  I  snatched  up  the  Report  of  the  Trial  to 
see.  It  opened  at  a  page  which  contained  the  nurse's  evi- 
dence. I  read  the  evidence  through  again,  without  recover- 


268  THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY. 

ing  the  lost  remembrance  until  I  came  to  these  lines  close  at 
the  end : 

"  Before  bed-time  I  went  up-stairs  to  prepare  the  remains 
of  the  deceased  lady  for  the  coffin.  The  room  in  which  she 
lay  was  locked ;  the  door  leading  into  Mr.  Macallan's  room 
being  secured,  as  well  as  the  door  leading  into  the  corridor. 
The  keys  had  been  taken  away  by  Mr.  Gale.  Two  of  the 
men-servants  were  posted  outside  the  bedroom  to  keep  watch. 
They  were  to  be  relieved  at  four  in  the  morning — that  was 
all  they  could  tell  me." 

There  was  my  lost  association  with  the  corridor !  There 
was  what  I  ought  to  have  remembered  when  Miserrimus 
Dexter  was  telling  me  of  his  visit  to  the  dead ! 

How  had  he  got  into  the  bedroom — the  doors  being  lock- 
ed, and  the  keys  being  taken  away  by  Mr.  Gale  ?  There  was 
but  one  of  the  locked  doors  of  which  Mr.  Gale  had  not  got 
the  key — the  door  of  communication  between  the  study  and 
the  bedroom.  The  key  was  missing  from  this..  Had  it  been 
stolen  ?  And  was  Dexter  the  thief?  He  might  have  passed 
by  the  men  on  the  watch  while  they  were  asleep,  or  he 
might  have  crossed  the  corridor  in  an  unguarded  interval 
while  the  men  were  being  relieved.  But  how  could  he  have 
got  into  the  bedchamber  except  by  way  of  the  locked  study 
door  ?  He  must  have  had  the  key  !  And  he  must  have 
secreted  it  weeks  before  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death  ! 
When  the  nurse  first  arrived  at  Gleninch,  on  the  seventh  of 
the  month,  her  evidence  declared  the  key  of  the  door  of  com- 
munication to  be  then  missing. 

To  what  conclusion  did  these  considerations  and  discov- 
eries point  ?  Had  Miserrimus  Dexter,  in  a  moment  of  un- 
governable agitation,  unconsciously  placed  the  clew  in  my 
hands?  Was  the  pivot  on  which  turned  the  whole  mystery 
of  the  poisoning  at  Gleninch  the  missing  key  ? 

I  went  back  for  the  third  time  to  my  desk  ?  The  one  per- 
son who  might  be  trusted  to  find  the  answer  to  those  ques- 
tions was  Mr.  Playmore.  I  wrote  him  a  full  and  careful  ac- 
count of  all  that  had  happened  ;  I  begged  him  to  foi'give  and 
forget  my  ungracious  reception  of  the  advice  which  he  had 
so  kindly  offered  to  me ;  and  I  promised  beforehand  to  do 
nothing  without  first  consulting  his  opinion  in  the  new  emer- 
gency which  now  confronted  me. 

The  day  was  fine  for  the  time  of  year ;  and  by  way  of 


THE    LAW   AND  THE   LADY.  269 

getting  a  little  wholesome  exercise  after  the  surprises  and 
occupations  of  the  morning,  I  took  my  letter  to  Mr.  Play- 
more  to  the  post. 

Returning  to  the  villa,!  was  informed  that  another  visitor 
was  waiting  to  see  me :  a  civilized  visitor  this  time,  who  had 
given  her  name.  My  mother-in-law — Mrs.  Macallan. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AT   THE    BEDSIDE. 

BEFORE  she  had  uttered  a  word,  I  saw  in  my  mother-in- 
law's  face  that  she  brought  bad  news. 

"  Eustace  ?"  I  said. 

She  answered  me  by  a  look. 

"  Let  me  hear  it  at  once  !"  I  cried.  •  "  I  can  bear  any  thing 
but  suspense." 

Mrs.  Macallan  lifted  her  hand,  and  showed  me  a  telegraph- 
ic dispatch  which  she  had  hitherto  kept  concealed  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress. 

"  I  can  trust  your  courage,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  need, 
my  child,  to  prevaricate  with  you,  Read  that." 

I  read  the  telegram.  It  was  sent  by  the  chief  surgeon  of 
a  field-hospital ;  and  it  was  dated  from  a  village  in  the  north 
of  Spain. 

"Mr.  Eustace  severely  wounded  in  a  skirmish  by  a  stray 
shot.  Not  in  danger,  so  far.  Every  care  taken  of  him. 
Wait  for  another  telegram." 

I  turned  away  my  face,  and  bore  as  best  I  might  the  pans: 
that  wrung  me  when  I  read  those  words.  I  thought  I  knew 
how  dearly  I  loved  him :  I  had  n'ever  known  it  till  that  mo- 
ment. 

My  mother-in-law  put  her  arm  round  me,  and  held  me  to 
her  tenderly.  She  knew  me  well  enough  not  to  speak  to  me 
at  that  moment. 

I  rallied  my  courage,  and  pointed  to  the  last  sentence  in 
the  telegram. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  wait  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  a  day  !"  she  answered.  "  I  am  going  to  the  Foreign 
Office  about  my  passport — I  have  some  interest  there:  they 
can  give  me  letters;  thrv  can  advise  and  assist  me.  I  leave 
to-night  by  the  mail  train  to  Calais." 


270  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  You  leave  ?"  I  said.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  will  let  you  go 
without  me  ?  Get  my  passport  when  you  get  yours.  At 
seven  this  evening  I  will  be  at  your  house." 

She  attempted  to  remonstrate  ;  she  spoke  of  the  perils  of 
the  journey.  At  the  first  words  I  stopped  her.  "  Don't 
you  know  yet,  mother,  how  obstinate  I  am  ?  They  may 
keep  you  waiting  at  the  Foreign  Office.  Why  do  you  waste 
the  precious  hours  here  ?" 

She  yielded  with  a  gentleness  that  was  not  in  her  every- 
day character.  "  Will  my  poor  Eustace  ever  know  what  a 
wife  he  has  got  ?"  That  was  all  she  said.  She  kissed  me, 
and  went  away  in  her  carriage. 

My  remembrances  of  our  journey  are  strangely  vague  and 
imperfect. 

As  I  try  to  recall  them,  the  memory  of  those  more  recent 
and  more  interesting  events  which  occurred  after  my  return 
to  England  gets  between  me  and  my  adventures  in  Spain, 
and  seems  to  force  these  last  into  a  shadowy  background,  un- 
til they  look  like  adventures  that  happened  many  years 
since.  I  confusedly  recollect  delays  and  alarms  that  tried 
our  patience  and  our  courage.  I  remember  our  finding 
friends  (thanks  to  our  letters  of  recommendation)  in  a  Secre- 
tary to  the  Embassy  and  in  a  Queen's  Messenger,  who  as- 
sisted and  protected  us  at  a  critical  point  in  the  journey.  I 
recall  to  mind  a  long  succession  of  men  in  our  employment 
as  travelers,  all  equally  remarkable  for  their  dirty  cloaks  and 
their  clean  linen,  for  their  highly  civilized  courtesy  to  wom- 
en and  their  utterly  barbarous  cruelty  to  horses.  Last,  and 
most  important  of  all,  I  see  again,  more  clearly  than  I  can 
see  any  thing  else,  the  one  wretched  bedroom  of  a  squalid 
village  inn  in  which  we  found  our  poor  darling,  prostrate  be- 
tween life  and  death,  insensible  to  every  thing  that  passed 
in  the  narrow  little  world  that  lay  around  his  bedside. 

There  was  nothing  romantic  or  interesting  in  the  accident 
which  had  put  my  husband's  life  in  peril. 

He  had  ventured  too  near  the  scene  of  the  conflict  (a  mis- 
erable affair)  to  rescue  a  poor  lad  who  lay  wounded  on  the 
field — mortally  wounded,  as  the  event  proved.  A  rifle-bullet 
had  struck  him  in  the  body.  His  brethren  of  the  field-hos- 
pital had  carried  him  back  to  their  quarters  at  the  risk  of 
their  lives.  He  was  a  great  favorite  with  all  of  them ;  pa- 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  271 

tient  and  gentle  and  brave ;  only  wanting  a  little  more 
judgment  to  be  the  most  valuable  recruit  who  had  joined 
the  brotherhood. 

In  telling  me  this,  the  surgeon  kindly  and  delicately  added 
a  word  of  warning  as  well. 

The  fever  caused  by  the  wound  had  brought  with  it  deliri- 
um, as  usual.  My  poor  husband's  mind,  in  so  far  as  his  wan- 
dering words  might  interpret  it,  was  filled  by  the  one  image 
of  his  wife.  The  medical  attendant  had  heard  enough,  in  the 
course  of  his  ministrations  at  the  bedside,  to  satisfy  him  that 
any  sudden  recognition  of  me  by  Eustace  (if  he  recovered) 
might  be  attended  by  the  most  lamentable  results.  As 
things  were  at  that  sad  time,  I  might  take  my  turn  at  nurs- 
ing him,  without  the  slightest  chance  of  his  discovering  me, 
perhaps  for  weeks  and  weeks  to  come.  But  on  the  day  when 
he  was  declared  out  of  danger — if  that  happy  day  ever  ar- 
rived— I  must  resign  my  place  at  his  bedside,  and  must  wait 
to  show  myself  until  the  surgeon  gave  me  leave. 

My  mother-in-law  and  I  relieved  each  other  regularly,  day 
and  night,  in  the  sick-room. 

In  the  hours  of  his  delirium — hours  that  recurred  with  a 
pitiless  regularity — my  name  was  always  on  my  poor  dar- 
ling's fevered  lips.  The  ruling  idea  in  him  was  the  one  dread- 
ful idea  which  I  had  vainly  combated  at  our  last  interview. 
In  the  face  of'the  verdict  pronounced  at  the  Trial,  it  was  im- 
possible even  for  his  wife  to  be  really  and  truly  persuaded 
that  he  was  an  innocent  man.  All  the  wild  pictures  which 
his  distempered  imagination  drew  were  equally  inspired  by 
.that  one  obstinate  conviction.  He  fancied  himself  to  be 
still  living  with  me  under  those  dreaded  conditions.  Do 
what  he  might,  I  was  always  recalling  to  him  the  terrible 
ordeal  through  which  he  had  passed.  He  acted  his  part, 
and  he  acted  mine.  He  gave  me  a  cup  of  tea ;  and  I  said 
to  him, "  We  quarreled  yesterday,  Eustace.  Is  it  poisoned  ?" 
He  kissed  me,  in  token  of  our  reconciliation  ;  and  I  laughed, 
and  said,  "It's  morning  now,  my  dear.  Shall  I  die  by  nine 
o'clock  to-night  ?"  I  was  ill  in  bed,  and  he  gave  me  my 
medicine.  I  looked  at  him  with  a  doubting  eye.  I  said  to 
him,  "You  are  in  love  with  another  woman.  Is  there  any 
thing  in  the  medicine  that  the  doctor  doesn't  know  of?" 
Such  was  the  horrible  drama  which  now  perpetually  acted 
itself  in  his  mind.  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times  I  heard 


272  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

him  repeat  it,  almost  always  in  the  same  words.  On  other 
occasions  his  thoughts  wandered  away  to  my  desperate  proj- 
ect of  proving  him  to  be  an  innocent  man.  Sometimes  he 
laughed  at  it.  Sometimes  he  mourned  over  it.  Sometimes  he 
devised  cunning  schemes  for  placing  unsuspected  obstacles 
in  my  way.  He  was  especially  hard  on  me  when  he  was  in- 
venting his  preventive  stratagems — he  cheerfully  instructed 
the  visionary  people  who  assisted  him  not  to  hesitate  at  of- 
fending or  distressing  me.  "  Never  mind  if  you  make  her 
angry ;  never  mind  if  you  make  her  cry.  It's  all  for  her  good ; 
it's  all  to  save  the  poor  fool  from  dangers  she  doesn't  dream 
of.  You  mustn't  pity  her  when  she  says  she  does  it  for  my 
sake.  See  !  she  is  going  to  be  insulted ;  she  is  going  to  be  de- 
ceived; she  is  going  to  disgrace  herself  without  knowing  it. 
Stop  her !  stop  her !"  It  was  weak  of  me,  I  know  ;  I  ought  to 
have  kept  the  plain  fact  that  he  was  out  of  his  senses  always 
present  to  my  mind :.  still  it  is  true  that  my  hours  passed  at 
my  husband's  pillow  were  many  of  them  hours  of  mortifica- 
tion and  misery  of  which  he,  poor  dear,  was  the  innocent  and 
only  cause. 

The  weeks  passed ;  and  he  still  hovered  between  life  and 
deatk 

I  kept  no  record  of  the  time,  and  I  can  not  now  recall  the  ex- 
^ct  date  on  which  the  first  favorable  change  took  place.  I  only 
remember  that  it  was  toward  sunrise  on  a  fine  winter  morn- 
ing when  we  were  relieved  at  last  of  our  heavy  burden  of 
suspense.  The  surgeon  happened  to  be  by  the  bedside  when 
his  patient  awoke..  The  first  thing  he  did,  after  looking  at 
Eustace,  was  to  caution  me  by  a  sign  to  be  silent  and  to 
keep  out  of  sight.  My  mother-in-law  and  I  both  knew  what 
this  meant.  With  full  hearts  we  thanked  God  together  for 
giving  us  back  the  husband  and  the  son. 

The  same  evening,  being  alone,  we  ventured  to  speak  of 
the  future — for  the  first  time  since  we  had  left  home. 

"  The  surgeon  tells  me,"  said  Mrs.  Macallan,  "  that  Eus- 
tace is  too  weak  to  be  capable  of  bearing  any  thing  in  the 
nature  of  a  surprise  for  some  days  to  come.  We  have  time 
to  consider  whether  he  is  or  is  not  to  be  told  that  he  owes 
his  life  as  much  to  your  care  as  to  mine.  Can  you  find  it  in 
your  heart  to  leave  him, Valeria,  now  that  God's  mercy  has 
restored  him  to  you  and  to  me  ?" 

"  If  I  only  consulted  my  own  heart,"  I  answered,  "  I  should 
never  leave  him  again." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  273 

/      Mrs.  Macallan  looked  at  ine  in  grave  surprise. 

"  What  else  have  you  to  consult  ?"  she  asked. 

"  If  we  both  live,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  to  think  of  the  hap- 
piness of  his  life  and  the  happiness  of  mine  in  the  years  that 
are  to  come.  I  can  bear  a  great  deal,  mother,  but  I  can  not 
endure  the  misery  of  his  leaving  me  for  the  second  time." 

"  You  wrong  him,Valeria — I  firmly  believe  you  wrong  him 
— in  thinking  it  possible  that  he  can  leave  you  again." 

"Dear  Mrs. Macallan,  have  you  forgotten  already  what  we 
have  both  heard  him  say  of  me  while  we  have  been  sitting 
by  his  bedside  ?" 

"  We  have  heard  the  ravings  of  a  man  in  delirium.  It  is 
surely  hard  to  hold  Eustace  responsible  for  what  he  said 
when  he  was  out  of  his  senses." 

"  It  is  harder  still,"  I  said,  "  to  resist  his  mother  when  she 
is  pleading  for  him.  Dearest  and  best  of  friends !  I  don't 
hold  Eustace  responsible  for  what  he  said  in  the  fever — but 
I  do  take  warning  by  it.  The  wildest  words  that  fell  from 
him  were,  one  and  all,  the  faithful  echo  of  what  he  said  to  me 
in  the  best  days  of  his  health  and  his  strength.  What  hope 
have  I  that  he  will  recover  with  an  altered  mind  toward 
me  ?  Absence  has  not  changed  it ;  suffering  has  not  changed 
it.  In  the  delirium  of  fever,  and  in  the  full  possession  of  his 
reason,  he  has  the  same  dreadful  doubt  of  me.  I  see  but  ohw 
way  of  winning  him  back :  I  must  destroy  at  its  root  his 
motive  for  leaving  me.  It  is  hopeless  to  persuade  him  that 
I  believe  in  his  innocence :  I  must  show  him  that  belief  is  no 
longer  necessary  ;  I  must  prove  to  him  that  his  position  to- 
ward me  has  become  the  position  of  an  innocent  man  !" 

"  Valeria !  Valeria  !  you  are  wasting  time  and  words.  You 
have  tried  the  experiment ;  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  the  thing  is  not  to  be  done." 

I  had  no  answer  to  that.  I  could  say  no  more  than  I  had 
said  already. 

"  Suppose  you  go  back  to  Dexter,  out  of  sheer  compassion 
for  a  mad  and  miserable  wretch  who  has  already  insulted 
you,"  proceeded  my  mother-in-law.  "You  can  only  go  back 
accompanied  by  me,  or  by  some  other  trustworthy  person. 
You  can  only  stay  long  enough  to  humor  the  creature's  way- 
ward fancy,  and  to  keep  his  crazy  brain  quiet  for  a  time. 
That  done,  all  is  done  —  you  leave  him.  Even  supposing 
Dexter  to  be  still  capable  of  helping  you,  how  can  you  make 


2*74  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

use  of  him  but  by  admitting  him  to  terms  of  confidence  and 
familiarity  —  by  treating  him,  in  short,  on  the  footing  of  an 
intimate  friend  ?  Answer  me  honestly:  can  you  bring  your- 
self to  do  that,  after  what  happened  at  Mr.  Benjamin's  house  ?" 

I  had  told  her  of  my  last  interview  with  Miserrimus  Dex- 
ter, in  the  natural  confidence  that  she  inspired  in  me  as  rela- 
tive and  fellow-traveler ;  and  this  was  the  use  to  which  she 
turned  her  information  !  I  suppose  I  had  no  right  to  blame 
her;  I  suppose  the  motive  sanctioned  every  thing.  At  any 
rate,  I  had  no  choice  but  to  give  offense  or  to  give  an  an- 
swer. I  gave  it.  I  acknowledged  that  I  could  never  again 
permit  Miserrimus  Dexter  to  treat  me  on  terms  of  familiar- 
ity as  a  trusted  and  intimate  friend. 

"  Mrs.  Macallan  pitilessly  pressed  the  advantage  that  she 
had  won. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  that  resource  being  no  longer  open 
to  you,  what  hope  is  left  ?  Which  way  are  you  to  turn  next  ?" 

There  was  no  meeting  those  questions,  in  my  present  situ- 
ation, by  any  adequate  reply.  I  felt  strangely  unlike  myself 
— I  submitted  in  silence.  Mrs.  Macallan  struck  the  last  blow 
that  completed  her  victory. 

"  My  poor  Eustace  is  weak  and  wayward,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
he  is  not  an  ungrateful  man.  My  child,  you  have  returned 
him  good  for  evil — you  have  proved  how  iaithfully  and  how 
devotedly  you  love  him,  by  suffering  all  hardships  and  risk- 
ing all  dangers  for  his  sake.  Trust  me,  and  trust  him  !  He 
can  not  resist  you.  Let  him  see  the  dear  face  that  he  has 
been  dreaming  of  looking  at  him  again  with  all  the  old  love 
in  it,  and  he  is  yours  once  more,  my  daughter  —  yours  for 
life."  She  rose  and  touched  my  forehead  with  her  lips  ;  her 
voice  sank  to  tones  of  tenderness  which  I  had  never  heard 
from  her  yet.  "  Say  yes,  Valeria,"  she  whispered  ;  "  and  be 
dearer  to  me  and  dearer  to  him  than  ever !" 

My  heart  sided  with  her.  My  energies  were  worn  out. 
No  letter  had  arrived  from  Mr.  Playmore  to  guide  and  to 
encourage  me.  I  had  resisted  so  long  and  so  vainly ;  I  had 
tried  and  suffered  so  much  ;  I  had  met  with  such  cruel  dis- 
asters and  such  reiterated  disappointments  —  and  he  was  in 
the  room  beneath  me,  feebly  finding  his  way  back  to  con- 
sciousness and  to  life — how  could  I  resist  ?  It  was  all  over. 
In  saying  Yes  (if  Eustace  confirmed  his  mother's  confidence 
in  him),  I  was  saying  adieu  to  the  one  cherished  ambition, 


THE    LAW    AXD    THE    LADY.  2/5 

the  one  dear  and  noble  hope  of  ray  life.     I  knew  it — and  I 
said  Yes. 

And  so  good-by  to  the  grand  struggle  !  And  so  wel- 
come to  the  new  resignation  which  owned  that  I  had  failed. 

My  mother-in-law  and  I  slept  together  under  the  only 
shelter  that  the  inn  could  offer  to  us —  a  sort  of  loft  at  the 
top  of  the  house.  The  night  that  followed  our  conversation 
was  bitterly  cold.  We  felt  the  chilly  temperature,  in  spite 
of  the  protection  of  our  dressing-gowns  and  our  traveling- 
wrappers.  My  mother-in-law  slept,  but  no  rest  came  to  me. 
I  was  too  anxious  and  too  wretched,  thinking  over  my 
changed  position,  and  doubting  how  my  husband  would  re- 
ceive me,  to  be  able  to  sleep. 

Some  hours,  as  I  suppose,  must  have  passed,  and  I  was 
still  absorbed  in  my  own  melancholy  thoughts,  when  I  sud- 
denly became  conscious  of  a  new  and  strange  sensation  which 
astonished  and  alarmed  me.  I  started  up  in  the  bed,  breath- 
less and  bewildered.  The  movement  awakened  Mrs.  Macal- 
lan. "Are  you  ill  ?"  she  asked.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?"  I  tried  to  tell  her,  as  well  as  I  could.  She  seemed  to 
understand  me  before  I  had  done ;  she  took  me  tenderly  in 
her  arms,  and  pressed  me  to  her  bosom.  "My  poor  innocent 
child,"  she  said,  "  is  it  possible  you  don't  know  ?  Must  I 
really  tell  you  ?"  She  whispered  her  next  words.  Shall  I 
ever  forget  the  tumult  of  feelings  which  the  whisper  aroused 
in  me — the  strange  medley  of  joy  and  fear,  and  wonder  and 
relief,  and  pride  and  humility,  which  filled  my  whole  being, 
and  made  a  new  woman  of  me  from  that  moment?  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  I  knew  it !  If  God  spared  me  for  a  few 
months  more,  the  most  enduring  and  the  most  sacred  of  all 
human  joys  might  be  mine — the  joy  of  being  a  mother. 

I  don't  know  how  the  rest  of  the  night  passed.  I  only 
find  my  memory  again  when  the  morning  came,  and  when  I 
went  out  by  myself  to  breathe  the  crisp  wintry  air  on  the 
open  moor  behind  the  inn. 

I  have  said  that  I  felt  like  a  new  woman.  The  morning 
found  me  with  a  new  resolution  and  a  new  courage.  When 
I  thought  of  the  future,  I  had  not  only  my  husband  to  con- 
sider now.  His  good  name  was  no  longer  his  own  and  mine 
—  it  might  soon  become  the  most  precious  inheritance  that 
he  could  leave  to  his  child.  What  had  I  dune  while  I  was  in 


276  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

ignorance  of  this?  I  had  resigned  the  hope  of  cleansing  his 
name  from  the  stain  that  rested  on  it — a  stain  still,  no  mat- 
ter how  little  it  might  look  in  the  eye  of  the  Law.  Our 
child  might  live  to  hear  malicious  tongues  say, "  Your  father 
was  tried  for  the  vilest  of  all  murders,  and  was  never  abso- 
lutely acquitted  of  the  charge."  Could  I  face  the  glorious 
perils  of  childbirth  with  that  possibility  present  to  my  mind  ? 
No !  not  until  I  had  made  one  more  effort  to  lay  the  con- 
science of  Miserrimus  Dexter  bare  to  my  view  !  not  until  I 
had  once  again  renewed  the  struggle,  and  brought  the  truth 
that  vindicated  the  husband  and  the  father  to  the  light  of 
day! 

I  went  back  to  the  house,  with  my  new  courage  to  sustain 
me.  I  opened  my  heart  to  my  friend  and  mother,  and  told 
her  frankly  of  the  change  that  had  come  over  me  since  we 
had  last  spoken  of  Eustace. 

She  was  more  than  disappointed — she  was  almost  offended 
with  me.  The  one  thing  needful  had  happened,  she  said. 
The  happiness  that  might  soon  come  to  us  would  form  a  new 
tie  between  my  husband  and  me.  Every  other  considera- 
tion but  this,  she  treated  as  purely  fanciful.  If  I  left  Eustace 
now,  I  did  a  heartless  thing  and  a  foolish  thing.  I  should  re- 
gret, to  the  end  of  my  days,  having  thrown  away  the  one 
golden  opportunity  of  my  married  life. 

It  cost  me  a  hard  struggle,  it  oppressed  me  with  many  a 
painful  doubt ;  but  I  held  firm  this  time.  The  honor  of  the 
father,  the  inheritance  of  the  child — I  kept  these  thoughts  as 
constantly  as  possible  before  my  mind.  Sometimes  they 
failed  me,  and  left  me  nothing  better  than  a  poor  fool  who 
had  some  fitful  bursts  of  crying,  and  was  always  ashamed  of 
herself  afterward.  But  my  native  obstinacy  (as  Mrs.  Macal- 
lan said)  carried  me  through.  Now  and  then  I  had  a  peep 
at  Eustace,  while  he  was  asleep ;  and  that  helped  me  too. 
Though  they  made  my  heart  ache  and  shook  me  sadly  at  the 
time,  those  furtive  visits  to  my  husband  fortified  me  after- 
ward. I  can  not  explain  how  this  happened  (it  seems  so 
contradictory) ;  I  can  only  repeat  it  as  one  of  my  experi- 
ences at  that  troubled  time. 

I  made  one  concession  to  Mrs.  Macallan — I  consented  to 
wait  for  two  days  before  I  took  any  steps  for  returning  to 
England,  on  the  chance  -that  my  mind  might  change  in  the 
interval. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  2/7 

It  was  well  for  me  that  I  yielded  so  far.  On  the  second 
day  the  director  of  the  field-hospital  sent  to  the  post-office 
at  our  nearest  town  for  letters  addressed  to  him  or  to  his 
care.  The  messenger  brought  back  a  letter  for  me.  I 
thought  I  recognized  the  handwriting,  and  I  was  right. 
Mr.  Playmore's  answer  had  reached  me  at  last ! 

If  I  had  been  in  any  danger  of  changing  my  mind,  the 
good  lawyer  would  have  saved  me  in  the  nick  of  time.  The 
extract  that  follows  contains  the  pith  of  his  letter;  and 
shows  how  he  encouraged  me  when  I  stood  in  sore  need  of 
a  few  cheering  and  friendly  words. 

"  Let  me  now  tell  you,"  he  wrote,  "  what  I  have  done 
toward  verifying  the  conclusion  to  which  your  letter  points. 

"I  have  traced  one  of  the  servants  who  was  appointed  to 
keep  watch  in  the  corridor  on  the  night  when  the  first  Mrs. 
Eustace  died  at  Gleninch.  The  man  perfectly  remembers 
that  Miserrimus  Dexter  suddenly  appeared  before  him  and 
his  fellow-servant  long  after  the  house  was  quiet  for  the 
night.  Dexter  said  to  them,  'I  suppose  there  is  no  harm  in 
my  going  into  the  study  to  read  ?  I  can't  sleep  after  what 
has  happened;  I  must  relieve  my  mind  somehow.'  The  men 
had  no  orders  to  keep  any  one  out  of  the  study.  They  knew 
that  the  door  of  communication  with  the  bedchamber  was 
locked,  and  that  the  keys  of  the  two  other  doors  of  commu- 
nication were  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Gale.  They  according- 
ly permitted  Dexter  to  go  into  the  study.  He  closed  the 
door  (the  door  that  opened  on  the  corridor),  and  remained 
absent  for  some  time — in  the  study  as  the  men  supposed  ;  in 
the  bedchamber  as  ice  know  from  what  he  let  out  at  his  in- 
terview with  you.  Now  he  could  enter  that  room,  as  you 
rightly  imagine,  in  but  one  way— by  being  in  possession  of 
the  missing  key.  How  long  he  remained  there  I  can  n6t 
discover.  The  point  is  of  little  consequence.  The  servant 
remembers  that  he  came  out  of  the  study  again  'as  pale  as 
death,'  and  that  he  passed  on  without  a  word  on  his  way 
back  to  his  own  room. 

"These  are  facts.  The  conclusion  to  which  they  lead  is 
serious  in  the  last  degree.  It  justifies  every  thing  that  I  con- 
fided to  you  in  my  office  at  Edinburgh.  You  remember 
what  passed  between  us.  I  say  no  more. 

"  As  to  yourself  next.  You  have  innocently  aroused  in 
Miserrimus  Dexter  a  feeling  toward  you  which  I  need  not 
N 


278  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

attempt  to  characterize.  There  is  a  certain  something — I 
saw  it  myself — in  your  figure,  and  in  some  of  your  move- 
ments, which  does  recall  the  late  Mrs.  Eustace  to  those  who 
knew  her  well,  and  which  has  evidently  had  its  effect  on 
Dexter's  morbid  mind.  Without  dwelling  further  on  this 
subject,  let  me  only  remind  you  that  he  has  shown  himself 
(as  a  consequence  of  your  influence  over  him)  to  be  incapa- 
ble, in  his  moments  of  agitation,  of  thinking  before  he  speaks 
while  he  is  in  your  presence.  It  is  not  merely  possible,  it  is 
highly  probable,  that  he  may  betray  himself  far  more  seri- 
ously than  he  has  betrayed  himself  yet  if  you  give  him  the 
opportunity.  I  owe  it  to  you  (knowing  what  your  interests 
are)  to  express  myself  plainly  on  this  point.  I  have  no  sort 
of  doubt  that  you  have  advanced  one  step  nearer  to  the  end 
which  you  have  in  view  in  the  brief  interval  since  you  left 
Edinburgh.  I  see  in  your  letter  (and  in  my  discoveries)  ir- 
resistible evidence  that  Dexter  must  have  been  in  secret 
communication  with  the  deceased  lady  (innocent  communi- 
cation, I  am  certain,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned),  not  only  at 
the  time  of  her  death,  but  perhaps  for  weeks  before  it.  I 
can  not  disguise  from  myself,  or  from  you,  my  own  strong 
persuasion  that  if  you  succeed  in  discovering  the  nature  of 
this  communication,  in  all  human  likelihood  you  prove  your 
husband's  innocence  by  the  discovery  of  the  truth.  As  an 
honest  man,  I  am  bound  not  to  conceal  this.  And,  as  an 
honest  man  also,  I  am  equally  bound  to  add  that,  not  even 
with  your  reward  in  view,  can  I  find  it  in  my  conscience  to 
advise  you  to  risk  what  you  must  risk  if  you  see  Miserrimus 
Dexter  again.  In  this  difficult  and  delicate  matter  I  can 
not  and  will  not  take  the  responsibility :  the  final  decision 
must  rest  with  yourself.  One  favor  only  I  entreat  you  to 
grant — let  me  hear  what  you  resolve  to  do  as  soon  as  you 
know  it  youi-self." 

The  difficulties  which  my  worthy  correspondent  felt  were 
no  difficulties  to  me.  I  did  not  possess  Mr.  Play more's  judi- 
cial mind.  My  resolution  was  settled  before  I  had  read  his 
letter  through. 

The  mail  to  France  crossed  the  frontier  the  next  day. 
There  was  a  place  for  me,  under  the  protection  of  the  con* 
ductor,  if  I  chose  to  take  it.  Without  consulting  a  living 
creature — rash  as  usual,  headlong  as  usual — I  took  it. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  '     279 


CHAPTER  XXXVIH. 

ON     THE     JOU.KNEY     BACK. 

IF  I  had  been  traveling  homeward  in  my  own  carriage,  the 
remaining  chapters  of  this  narrative  would  never  have  been 
written.  Before  we  had  been  an  hour  on  the  road  I  should 
have  called  to  the  driver,  and  should  have  told  him  to  turn 
back. 

Who  can  be  always  resolute? 

In  asking  that  question,  I  speak  of  the  women,  not  of  the 
men.  I  had  been  resolute  in  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  Mr.Play- 
more's  doubts  and  cautions ;  resolute  in  holding  out  against 
my  mother-in-law ;  resolute  in  taking  my  place  by  the  French 
mail.  Until  ten  minutes  after  we  had  driven  away  from  the 
inn  my  courage  held  out — and  then  it  failed  me ;  then  I  said 
to  myself,  "You  wretch,  you  have  deserted  your  husband!" 
For  hours  afterward,  if  I  could  have  stopped  the  mail,  I 
would  have  done  it.  I  hated  the  conductor,  the  kindest  of 
men.  I  hated  the  Spanish  ponies  that  drew  us,  the  cheeriest 
animals  that  ever  jingled  a  string  of  bells.  I  hated  the 
bright  day  that  would  make  things  pleasant,  and  the  bracing 
air  that  forced  rne  to  feel  the  luxury  of  breathing  whether  I 
liked  it  or  not.  Never  was  a  journey  more  miserable  than 
my  safe  and  easy  journey  to  the  frontier.  But  one  little 
comfort  helped  me  to  bear  my  heart -ache  resignedly  —  a 
stolen  morsel  of  Eustace's  hair.  We  had  started  at  an  hour 
of  the  morning  when  lie  was  still  sound  asleep.  I  could 
creep  into  his  room,  and  kiss  him,  and  cry  over  him  softly, 
and  cut  off  a  stray  lock  of  his  hair,  without  danger  of 
discovery.  How  I  summoned  resolution  enough  to  leave 
him  is,  to  this  hour,  not  clear  to  my  mind.  I  think  my 
mother-in-law  must  have  helped  me,  without  meaning  to  do 
it.  She  came  into  the  room  with  an  erect  head  and  a  cold 
eye  ;  she  said,  with  an  unmerciful  emphasis  on  the  word, 
"If  you  mean  to  go,  Valeria,  the  carriage  is  here."  Any 
woman  with  a  spark  of  spirit  in  her  would  have  "meant"  it 
under  those  circumstances.  I  meant  it — and  did  it. 

And  then  I  was  sorry  for  it.     Poor  humanity  I 


280  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Time  has  got  all  the  credit  of  being  the  great  consoler  of 
afflicted  mortals.  In  my  opinion,  Time  has  been  overrated 
in  this  matter.  Distance  does  the  same  beneficent  work  far 
more  speedily,  and  (when  assisted  by  Change)  far  more  ef- 
fectually as  well.  On  the  railroad  to  Paris,  I  became  capa- 
ble of  taking  a  sensible  view  of  my  position.  I  could  now 
remind  myself  that  my  husbaifd's  reception  of  me — after  the 
first  surprise  and  the  first  happiness  had  passed  away — might 
not  have  justified  his  mother's  confidence  in  him.  Admitting 
that  I  ran  a  risk  in  going  back  to  Miserrimus  Dexter,  should 
I  not  have  been  equally  rash,  in  another  way,  if  I  had  re- 
turned, uninvited,  to  a  husband  who  had  declared  that  our 
conjugal  happiness  was  impossible,  and  that  our  married  life 
was  at  an  end  ?  Besides,  who  could  say  that  the  events  of 
the  future  might  not  yet  justify  me — not  only  to  myself,  but 
to  him?  I  might  yet  hear  him  say,  "She  was  inquisitive 
when  she  had  no  business  to  inquire ;  she  was  obstinate  when 
she  ought  to  have  listened  to  reason ;  she  left  my  bedside 
when  other  women  would  have  remained;  but  in  the  end 
she  atoned  for  it  all — she  turned  out  to  be  right !" 

I  rested  a  day  at  Paris,  and  wrote  three  letters. 

One  to  Benjamin,  telling  him  to  expect  me  the  next  even- 
ing.^ One  to  Mr.  Playmore,  warning  him,  in  good  time,  that 
I  meant  to  make  a  last  effort  to  penetrate  the  mystery  at 
Gleninch.  One  to  Eustace  (of  a  few  lines  only),  owning  that 
I  had  helped  to  nurse  him  through  the  dangerous  part  of  his 
illness  ;  confessing  the  one  reason  which  had  prevailed  with 
me  to  leave  him ;  and  entreating  him  to  suspend  his  opinion 
of  me  until  time  had  proved  that  I  loved  him  more  dearly 
than  ever.  This  last  letter  I  inclosed  to  my  mother-in-law, 
leaving  it  to  her  discretion  to  choose  the  right  time  for  giv- 
ing it  to  her  son.  I  positively  forbade  Mrs.  Macallan,  how- 
ever, to  tell  Eustace  of  the  new  tie  between  us.  Although 
he  had  separated  himself  from  me,  I  was  determined  that  he 
should  not  hear  it  from  other  lips  than  mine.  Never  mind 
why.  There  are  certain  little  matters  which  I  must  keep  to 
myself;  and  this  is  one  of  them. 

My  letters  being  written,  my  duty  was  done.  I  was  free 
to  play  my  last  card  in  the  game — the  darkly  doubtful  game 
which  was  neither  quite  for  me  nor  quite  against  me  as  the 
chances  now  stood. 


I 

THE   LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  281 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

ON    THE     WAY    TO    DEXTEK. 

"  I  DECLARE  to  Heaven,  Valeria,  I  believe  that  monster's 
madness  is  infectious — and  you  have  caught  it !" 

This  was  Benjamin's  opinion  of  me  (on  my  safe  arrival  at 
the  villa)  after  I  had  announced  my  intention  of  returning 
Miserrimus  Dexter's  visit,  in  his  company. 

Being  determined  to  carry  my  point,  I  could  afford  to  try 
the  influence  of  mild  persuasion.  I  begged  my  good  friend 
to  have  a  little  patience  with  me.  "And  do  remember  what 
I  have  already  told  you,"  I  added.  "It  is  of  serious  impor- 
tance to  me  to  see  Dexter  again." 

I  only  heaped  fuel  on  the  fire.  "  See  him  again  ?"  Benja- 
min repeated,  indignantly.  "See  him,  after  he  grossly  in- 
sulted you,  under  my  roof,  in  this  very  room  ?  I  can't  be 
awake ;  I  must  be  asleep  and  dreaming !" 

It  was  wrong  of  me,  I  know.  But  Benjamin's  virtuous  in- 
dignation was  so  very  virtuous  that  it  let  the  spirit  of  mis- 
chief loose  in  me.  I  really  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  outrage  his  sense  of  propriety  by  taking  an  audaciously 
liberal  view  of  the  whole  matter. 

"Gently,  my  good  friend,  gently,"  I  said,  "We  must 
make  allowances  for  a  man  who  suffers  under  Dexter's  in- 
firmities, and  lives  Dexter's  life.  And  really  we  must  not 
let  our  modesty  lead  us  beyond  reasonable  limits.  I  begin 
to  think  that  I  took  rather  a  prudish  view  of  the  thing  my- 
self at  the  time.  A  woman  who  respects  herself,  and  whose 
whole  heart  is  with  her  husband,  is  not  so  very  seriously  in- 
jured when  a  wretched  crippled  creature  is  rude  enough  to 
put  his  arm  around  her  waist.  Virtuous  indignation  (if  I 
may  venture  to  say  so)  is  sometimes  very  cheap  indignation. 
Besides,  I  have  forgiven  him — and  you  must  forgive  him  too. 
There  is  no  fear  of  his  forgetting  himself  again,  while  you 
are  with  me.  His  house  is  quite  a  curiosity — it  is  sure  to  in- 
1  <•]•<•<(  you;  the  pictures  alone  are  worth  the1  journey.  I  will 
write  to  him  to-d;iy,  and  \ve  will  go  and  see  him  together  to- 
morrow.  We  owe  it  to  ourselves  (if  we  don't  owe  it  to  Mr. 


282  THE  LAW  AND  TUB  LADY. 

Dexter)  to  pay  this  visit.  If  you  will  look  about  you,  Ben- 
jamin, you  will  see  that  benevolence  toward  every  body  is 
the  great  virtue  of  the  time  we  live  in.  Poor  Mr.  Dexter 
must  have  the  benefit  of  the  prevailing  fashion.  Come,  come, 
march  with  the  age  !  Open  your  mind  to  the  new  ideas  !" 

Instead  of  accepting  this  polite  invitation,  worthy  old  Ben- 
jamin flew  at  the  age  we  lived  in  like  a  bull  at  a  red  cloth. 

"  Oh,  the  new  ideas !  the  new  ideas  !  By  all  manner  of 
means,  Valeria,  let  us  have  the  new  ideas  !  The  old  moral- 
ity's all  wrong,  the  old  ways  are  all  worn  out.  Let's  march 
with  the  age  we  live  in.  Nothing  comes  amiss  to  the  age 
we  live  in.  The  wife  in  England  and  the  husband  in  Spain, 
married  or  not  married,  living  together  or  not  living  to- 
gether— it's  all  one  to  the  new  ideas.  I'll  go  with  you,  Va- 
leria; I'll  be  worthy  of  the  generation  I  live  in.  When  we 
have  done  with  Dexter,  don't  let's  do  things  by  halves.  Let's 
go  and  get  crammed  with  ready-made  science  at  a  lecture — 
let's  hear  the  last  new  professor,  the  man  who  has  been  be- 
hind the  scenes  at  Creation,  and  knows  to  a  T  how  the  world 
was  made,  and  how  long  it  took  to  make  it.  There's  the  other 
fellow,  too :  mind  we  don't  forget  the  modern  Solomon,  who 
has  left  his  proverbs  behind  him — the  brand-new  philosopher 
who  considers  the  consolations  of  religion  in  the  light  of 
harmless  playthings,  and  who  is  kind  enough  to  say  that  he 
might  have  been  all  the  happier  if  he  could  only  have  been 
childish  enough  to  play  with  them  himself.  Oh,  the  new 
ideas !  the  new  ideas  ! — what  consoling,  elevating,  beautiful 
discoveries  have  been  made  by  the  new  ideas!  We  were  all 
monkeys  before  we  were  men,  and  molecules  before  we  were 
monkeys !  And  what  does  it  matter?  And  what  does  any 
thing  matter  to  any  body  ?  I'm  with  you,  Valeria,  I'm  ready. 
The  sooner  the  better.  Come  to  Dexter  !  Come  to  Dexter  J" 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  agree  with  me,"  I  said.  "  But  let  us 
do  nothing  in  a  hurry.  Three  o'clock  to-morrow  will  be  time 
enough  for  Mr.  Dexter.  I  will  write  at  once  and  tell  him  to 
expect  us.  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

^  "  I  am  going  to  clear  my  mind  of  cant,"  said  Benjamin, 
sternly.     "I  am  going  into  the  library." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  read  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  read  —  Puss  in  Boots,  and  Jack  and  the 
Bean-stalk, and  any  thing  else  I  can  find  that  doesn't  march 
with  the  age  we  live  in." 


TUE  LAW  AND  TUB  LADY.  283 

With  that  parting  shot  at  the  new  ideas,  my  old  friend 
left  me  for  a  time. 

Having  dispatched  my  note,  I  found  myself  beginning  to 
revert,  with  a  certain  feeling  of  anxiety,  to  the  subject  of 
Miserrimus  Dexter's  health.  How  had  he  passed  through 
the  interval  of  my  absence  from  England  ?  Could  any  body, 
within  rny  reach,  tell  me  news  of  him  ?  To  inquire  of  Ben- 
jamin would  only  be  to  provoke  a  new  outbreak.  "While  I 
was  still  considering,  the  housekeeper  entered  the  room  on 
some  domestic  errand.  I  asked,  at  a  venture,  if  she  had 
heard  any  thing  more  while  I  had  been  away,  of  the  extraor- 
dinary person  who  had  so  seriously  alarmed  her  on  a  former 
occasion. 

The  housekeeper  shook  her  head,  and  looked  as  if  she 
thought  it  in  bad  taste  to  mention  the  subject  at  all. 

"About  a  week  after  you  had  gone  away,  ma'am,"  she 
said,  with  extreme  severity  of  manner,  and  with  excessive 
carefulness  in  her  choice  of  words,  "  the  Person  you  mention 
had  the  impudence  to  send  a  letter  to  you.  The  messenger 
was  informed,  by  my  master's  orders,  that  you  had  gone 
abroad,  and  he  and  his  letter  were  both  sent  about  their 
business  together.  Not  long  afterward,  ma'am,  I  happened, 
while  drinking  tea  with  Mrs.  Macallan's  housekeeper,  to  hear 
of  the  Person  again.  He  himself  called  in  his  chaise,  at  Mrs. 
Macallan's,  to  inquire  about  you  there.  How  he  can  contrive 
to  sit,  without  legs  to  balance  him,  is  beyond  my  understand- 
ing— but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Legs  or  no  legs,  the 
housekeeper  saw  him,  and  she  says,  as  I  say,  she  will  never 
forget  him  to  her  dying  day.  She  told  him  (as  soon  as  she 
recovered  herself)  of  Mr.  Eustace's  illness,  and  of  you  and 
Mrs.  Mac-.illan  being  in  foreign  parts  nursing  him.  He  went 
away,  so  the  housekeeper  told  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
oaths  and  curses  on  his  lips — a  sight  shocking  to  see.  That's 
all  I  know  about  the  Person,  ma'am,  and  I  hope  to  be  ex- 
cused if  I  venture  to  say  that  the  subject  is  (for  good  rea- 
sons) extremely  disagreeable  to  me." 

She  made  a  formal  courtesy,  and  quitted  the  room. 

Left  by  myself,  I  felt  more  anxious  and  more  uncertain 
than  ever  when  I  thought  of  the  experiment  that  was  to  be 
tried  on  the  next  day.  Making  due  allowance  for  exagger- 
ation, the  description  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  on  his  departure 
from  Mrs.  Macallan's  house  suggested  that  he  had  not  en- 


284  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

dured  my  long  absence  very  patiently,  and  that  he  was  still 
as  far  as  ever  from  giving  his  shattered  nervous  system  its 
fair  chance  of  repose. 

The  next  morning  brought  me  Mr.  Playmore's  reply  to 
the  letter  which  I  had  addressed  to  him  from  Paris. 

He  wrote  very  briefly,  neither  approving  nor  blaming  my 
decision,  but  strongly  reiterating  his  opinion  that  I  should 
do  well  to  choose  a  competent  witness  as  my  companion  at 
my  coming  interview  with  Dexter.  The  most  interesting 
part  of  the  letter  was  at  the  end.  "  You  must  be  prepared," 
Mr.  Playmore  wrote,  "  to  see  a  change  for  the  worse  in  Dex- 
ter. A  friend  of  mine  was  with  him  on  a  matter  of  business 
a  few  days  since,  and  was  struck  by  the  alteration  in  him. 
Your  presence  is  sure  to  have  its  effect,  one  way  or  another. 
I  can  give  you  no  instructions  for  managing  him — you  must 
be  guided  by  the  circumstances.  Your  own  tact  will  tell 
you  whether  it  is  wise  or  not  to  encourage  him  to  speak  of 
the  late  Mrs.  Eustace.  The  chances  of  his  betraying  himself 
all  revolve  (as  I  think)  round  that  one  topic :  keep  him  to  it 
if  you  can."  To  this  was  added,  in  a  postscript :  "  Ask  Mr. 
Benjamin  if  he  were  near  enough  to  the  library  door  to  hear 
Dexter  tell  you  of  his  entering  the  bedchamber  on  the  night 
of  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan's  death." 

I  put  the  question  to  Benjamin  when  we  met  at  the  lunch- 
eon-table before  setting  forth  for  the  distant  suburb  in  which 
Miserrimus  Dexter  lived.  My  old  friend  disapproved  of  the 
contemplated  expedition  as  strongly  as  ever.  He  was  unu- 
sually grave  and  unusually  sparing  of  his  words  when  he 
answered  me. 

"  I  am  no  listener,"  he  said.  "  But  some  people  have 
voices  which  insist  on  being  heard.  Mr.  Dexter  is  one  of 
them." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  heard  him  ?"  I  asked. 

"The  door  couldn't  muffle  him,  and  the  wall  couldn't  muf- 
fle him,"  Benjamin  rejoined.  "  I  heard  him — and  I  thought 
it  infamous.  There !" 

"  I  may  want  you  to  do  more  than  hear  him  this  time,"  I 
ventured  to  say.  "1  may  want  you  to  make  notes  of  our 
conversations  while  Mr.  Dexter  is  speaking  to  me.  You  used 
to  write  down  what  my  father  said,  when  he  was  dictating 
his  letters  to  you.  Have  you  got  one  of  your  little  note- 
books to  spare  ?" 


TUB    LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  285 

Benjamin  looked  up  from  his  plate  with  an  aspect  of  stern 
surprise. 

"  It's  one  thing,"  he  said,  "  to  write  under  the  dictation 
of  a  great  merchant,  conducting  a  vast  correspondence  by 
which  thousands  of  pounds  change  hands  in  due  course  of 
post.  And  it's  another  thing  to  take  down  the  gibberish 
of  a  maundering  mad  monster  who  ought  to  be  kept  in  a 
cage.  Your  good  father,  Valeria,  would  never  have  asked 
me  to  do  that." 

"  Forgive  me,  Benjamin ;  I  must  really  ask  you  to  do  it. 
You  may  be  of  the  greatest  possible  use  to  me.  Come, 
give  way  this  once,  dear,  for  my  sake." 

Benjamin  looked  down  again  at  his  plate,  with  a  rueful 
resignation  which  told  me  that  I  had  carried  my  point. 

"I  have  been  tied  to  her  apron-string  all  my  life,"  I  heard 
him  grumble  to  himself;  "and  it's  too  late  in  the  day  to 
get  loose  from  her  now."  He  looked  up  again"  at  me.  "I 
thought  I  had  retired  from  business,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it 
«eems  I  must  turn  clerk  again.  "Well?  What  is  the  new 
stroke  of  work  that's  expected  from  me  this  time  ?" 

The  cab  was  announced  to  be  waiting  for  us  at  the  gate 
as  he  asked  the  question.  I  rose  and  took  his  arm,  and  gave 
him  a  grateful  kiss  on  his  rosy  old  cheek. 

"  Only  two  things,"  I  said.  "  Sit  down  behind  Mr.  Dex- 
ter's  chair,  so  that  he  can't  see  you.  But  take  care  to  place 
yourself,  at  the  same  time,  so  that  you  can  see  me." 

"  The  less  I  see  of  Mr.  Dexter  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased," 
growled  Benjamin.  "  What  am  I  to  do  after  I  have  taken- 
my  place  behind  him?" 

"  You  are  to  wait  until  I  make  you  a  sign ;  and  when  you 
see  it  you  are  to  begin  writing  down  in  your  note-book  what 
Mr.  Dexter  is  saying  —  and  you  are  to  go  on  until  I  make 
another  sign,  which  means,  Leave  off!" 

"  Well  ?"  said  Benjamin,  "  what's  the  sign  for  Begin?  and 
what's  the  sign  for  Leave  off?" 

I  was  not  quite  prepared  with  an  answer  to  this.  I  asked 
him  to  help  me  with  a  hint.  No  !  Benjamin  would  take 
no  active  part  in  the  matter.  He  was  resigned  to  be  em- 
ployed in  the  capacity  of  passive  instrument — and  there  all 
concession  ended,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

Left  to  my  own  resources,  I  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  in- 
vent a  telegraphic  system  which  should  sufficiently  inform 
X  •_> 


286  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

Benjamin,  without  awakening  Dexter's  quick  suspicion.  I 
looked  into  the  glass  to  see  if  I  could  find  the  necessary  sug- 
gestion in  any  thing  that  I  wore.  My  earrings  supplied  me 
with  the  idea  of  which  I  was  in  search. 

"  I  shall  take  care  to  sit  in  an  arm-chair,"  I  said.  "  When 
you  see  me  rest  my  elbow  on  the  chair,  and  lift  my  hand  to 
my  earring,  as  if  I  were  playing  with  it  —  write  down  what 
he  says;  and  go  on  until  —  well,  suppose  we  say,  until  you 
hear  me  move  my  chair.  At  that  sound,  stop.  You  under- 
stand me  ?" 

"  I  understand  you." 

We  started  for  Dexter's  house. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

NEMESIS     AT      LAST. 

THE  gardener  opened  the  gate  to  us  on  this  occasion.  He 
had  evidently  received  his  orders  in  anticipation  of  my  ar- 
rival. 

"  Mrs.  Valeria  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"And  friend?" 

"And  friend." 

"  Please  to  step  up-stairs.     You  know  the  house." 

Crossing  the  hall,  I  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  looked  at 
a  favorite  walking-cane  which  Benjamin  still  kept  in  his 
hand. 

"  Your  cane  will  only  be  in  your  way,"  I  said.  "  Had  you 
not  better  leave  it  here?" 

"  My  cane  may  be  useful  up-stairs,"  retorted  Benjamin, 
gruffly.  "jT  haven't  forgotten  what  happened  in  the  library." 

It  was  no  time  to  contend  with  him.  I  led  the  way  up 
the  stairs. 

Arriving  at  the  upper  flight  of  steps,  I  was  startled  by 
hearing  a  sudden  cry  from  the  room  above.  It  was  like  the 
cry  of  a  person  in  pain ;  and  it  was  twice  repeated  before 
we  entered  the  circular  antechamber.  I  was  the  first  to  ap- 
proach the  inner  room,  and  to  see  the  many-sided  Miserri- 
mus  Dexter  in  another  new  aspect  of  his  character. 

The  unfortunate  Ariel  was  standing  before  a  table,  with  a 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  287 

dish  of  little  cakes  placed  in  front  of  her.  Round  each  of  her 
wrists  was  tied  a  string,  the  free  ends  of  which  (at  a  distance 
of  a  few  yards)  were  held  in  Miserrimus  Dexter's  hands. 
"Try  again,  my  beauty  !"  I  heard  him  say,  as  I  stopped  on 
the  threshold  of  the  door.  "  Take  a  cake."  At  the  word 
of  command,  Ariel  submissively  stretched  out  one  arm  to- 
ward the  dish.  Just  as  she  touched  a  cake  with  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  her  hand  was  jerked  away  by  a  pull  at  the  string, 
so  savagely  cruel  in  the  nimble  and  devilish  violence  of  it 
that  I  felt  inclined  to  snatch  Benjamin's  cane  out  of  his  hand 
and  break  it  over  Miserrimus  Dexter's  back.  Ariel  suffered 
the  pain  this  time  in  Spartan  silence.  The  position  in  which 
she  stood  enabled  her  to  be  the  first  to  see  me  at  the  door. 
She  had  discovered  me.  Her  teeth  were  set;  her  face  was 
Hushed  under  the  struggle  to  restrain  herself.  Not  even  a 
sigh  escaped  her  in  my  presence. 

"Drop  the  string!"  I  called  out,  indignantly.  "Release 
her,  Mr.  Dexter,  or  I  shall  leave  the  house." 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice  he  burst  out  with  a  shrill  cry  of 
welcome.  His  eyes  fastened  on  me  with  a  fierce,  devouring 
delight. 

"  Come  in  !  come  in  !"  he  cried.  "  See  what  I  ana  reduced 
to  in  the  maddening  suspense  of  waiting  for  you.  See  how 
I  kill  the  time  when  the  time  parts  us.  Come  in  !  come  in  ! 
I  am  in  one  of  my  malicious  humors  this  morning,  caused 
entirely,  Mrs. Valeria,  by  my  anxiety  to  see  you.  When  I 
am  in  my  malicious  humors  I  must  tease  something.  I  am 
teasing  Ariel.  Look  at  her!  She  has  had  nothing  to  eat  all 
day,  and  she  hasn't  been  quick  enough  to  snatch  a  morsel  of 
cake  yet.  You  needn't  pity  her.  Ariel  has  no  nerves — I 
don't  hurt  her." 

"Ariel  has  no  nerves,"  echoed  the  poor  creature,  frowning 
at  me  for  interfering  between  her  master  and  herself.  "  He 
doesn't  hurt  me." 

I  heard  Benjamin  beginning  to  swing  his  cane  behind  me. 

"Drop  the  string!"  I  reiterated,  more  vehemently  than 
ever.  "Drop  it,  or  I  shall  instantly  leave  you." 

Miserrimus  Dexter's  delicate  nerves  shuddered  at  my  vio- 
lence. "  What  a  glorious  voice  !"  he  exclaimed — and  drop- 
ped the  string.  "Take  the  cakes,"  he  added,  addressing 
Ariel  in  his  most  imperial  manner. 

She  passed  me,  with  the  strings  hanging  from  her  swollen 


288  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

wrists,  and  the  dish  of  cakes  in  her  hand.  She  nodded  her 
head  at  me  defiantly. 

"Ariel  has  got  no  nerves,"  she  repeated,  proudly.  "He 
doesn't  hurt  me." 

"You  see,"  said  Miserrimus  Dexter,  "there  is  no  harm 
done — and  I  dropped  the  strings  when  you  told  me.  Don't 
begin  by  being  hard  on  me,  Mrs. Valeria,  after  your  long  ab- 
sence." He  paused.  Benjamin,  standing  silent  in  the  door- 
way, attracted  his  attention  for  the  first  time.  "Who  is 
this?"  he  asked,  and  wheeled  his  chair  suspiciously  nearer 
to  the  door.  "  I  know !"  he  cried,  before  I  could  answer. 
"  This  is  the  benevolent  gentleman  who  looked  like  the  ref- 
uge of  the  afflicted  when  I  saw  him  last. — You  have  altered 
for  the  worse  since  then,  sir.  You  have  stepped  into  quite 
a  new  character — you  personify  Retributive  Justice  now. — 
Your  new  protector,  Mrs. Valeria — I  understand  !"  He  bow- 
ed low  to  Benjamin,  with  ferocious  irony.  "  Your  humble 
servant,  Mr.  Retributive  Justice  !  I  have  deserved  you — 
and  I  submit  to  you.  Walk  in,  sir !  I  will  take  care  that 
your  new  office  shall  be  a  sinecure.  This  lady  is  the  Light 
of  my  Life.  Catch  me  failing  in  respect  to  her  if  you  can  !" 
He  backed  his  chair  before  Benjamin  (who  listened  to  him 
in  contemptuous  silence)  until  he  reached  the  part  of  the 
room  in  which  I  was  standing.  "Your  hand,  Light  of  my 
Life  !"  he  murmured  in  his  gentlest  tones.  "  Your  hand — 
only  to  show  that  you  have  forgiven  me !"  I  gave  him  my 
hand.  " One ?"  he  whispered,  entreatingly.  "Only  one?" 
He  kissed  my  hand  once,  respectfully — and  dropped  it  with 
a  heavy  sigh.  "Ah,  poor  Dt-xter !"  he  said,  pitying  himself 
with  the  whole  sincerity  of  his  egotism.  "  A  warm  heart 
wasted  in  solitude,  mocked  by  deformity.  Sa'd  !  sad  !  Ah, 
poor  Dexter !"  He  looked  round  again  at  Benjamin,  with 
another  flash  of  his  ferocious  irony.  "  A  beauteous  day,  sir," 
he  said,  with  mock -conventional  courtesy.  "Seasonable 
weather  indeed  after  the  late  long-continued  rains.  Can  I 
offer  you  any  refreshment  ?  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  Retrib- 
utive Justice,  when  it  is  no  taller  than  you  are,  looks  best  in 
a  chair." 

"  And  a  monkey  looks  best  in  a  cage,"  rejoined  Benjamin, 
enraged  at  the  satirical  reference  to  his  shortness  of  stature. 
"  I  was  waiting,  sir,  to  see  you  get  into  your  swing." 

The  retort  produced  no  effect  on  Miserrimus  Dexter:  it 


TUB    LAW    AND   THE   LADY.  289 

appeared  to  have  passed  by  him  unheard.  He  had  changed 
again ;  he  was  thoughtful,  he  was  subdued ;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  me  with  a  sad  and  rapt  attention.  I  took  the  near- 
est arm-chair,  first  casting  a  glance  at  Benjamin,  which  he 
immediately  understood.  He  placed  himself  behind  Dexter, 
at  an  angle  which  commanded  a  view  of  my  chair.  Ariel, 
silently  devouring  her  cakes,  crouched  on  a  stool  at  "  the 
Master's "  feet,  and  looked  up  at  him  like  a  faithful  dog. 
There  was  an  interval  of  quiet  and  repose.  I  was  able  to 
observe  Miserrimus  Dexter  uninterruptedly  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  entered  the  room. 

I  was  not  surprised — I  was  nothing  less  than  alarmed  by 
the  change  for  the  worse  in  him  since  we  had  last  met.  Mr. 
Playmore's  letter  had  not  prepared  me  for  the  serious  dete- 
rioration in  him  which  I  could  now  discern. 

His  features  were  pinched  and  worn ;  the  whole  face  seem- 
ed to  have  wasted  strangely  in  substance  and  size  since  I  had 
last  seen  it.  The  softness  in  his  eyes  was  gone.  Blood-red 
veins  were  intertwined  all  over  them  now:  they  were  set  in 
a  piteous  and  vacant  stare.  His  once  firm  hands  looked  with- 
ered ;  they  trembled  as  they  lay  on  the  coverlet.  The  pale- 
ness of  his  face  (exaggerated,  perhaps,  by  the  black  velvet 
jacket  that  he  wore)  had  a  sodden  and  sickly  look — the  fine 
outline  was  gone.  The  multitudinous  little  wrinkles  at  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  had  deepened.  His  head  sank  into  his 
shoulders  when  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair.  Years  ap- 
peared to  have  passed  over  him,  instead  of  months,  while  I 
had  been  absent  from  England.  Remembering  the  medical 
report  which  Mr.  Playmore  had  given  me  to  read — recalling 
the  doctor's  positively  declared  opinion  that  the  preservation 
of  Dexter's  sanity  depended  on  the  healthy  condition  of  his 
nerves — I  could  not  but  feel  that  I  had  done  wisely  (if  I 
might  still  hope  for  success)  in  hastening  my  return  from 
Spain.  Knowing  what  I  knew,  fearing  what  I  feared,  I  be- 
lieved that  his  time  was  near.  I  felt,  when  our  eyes  met  by 
accident,  that  I  was  looking  at  a  doomed  man. 

I  pitied  him. 

Yes,  yes  !  I  know  that  compassion  for  him  was  utterly  in- 
consistent with  the  motive  which  had  taken  me  to  his  house 
— utterly  inconsistent  with  the  doubt,  still  present  to  my 
mind,  whether  Mr.  Playmore  had  really  wronged  him  in  be- 
lieving that  his  was  the  guilt  which  had  compassed  the  first 


290  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

Mrs.  Eustace's  death.  I  felt  this :  I  knew  him  to  be  cruel ; 
I  believed  him  to  be  false.  And  yet  I  pitied  him !  Is  there 
a  common  fund  of  wickedness  in  us  all  ?  Is  the  suppression 
or  the  development  of  that  wickedness  a  mere  question  of 
training  and  temptation  ?  And  is  there  something  in  our 
deeper  sympathies  which  mutely  acknowledges  this  when 
we  feel  for  the  wicked  ;  when  we  crowd  to  a  criminal  trial ; 
when  we  shake  hands  at  parting  (if  we  happen  to  be  present 
officially)  with  the  vilest  monster  that  ever  swung  on  a  gal- 
lows? It  is  not  for  me  to  decide.  I  can  only  say  that  I 
pitied  Miserrimus  Dexter — and  that  he  found  it  out. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "  You  see  I  am  ill,  and 
you  feel  for  me.  Dear  and  good  Valeria !"  ' 

"  This  lady's  name,  sir,  is  Mrs.  Eustace  Macallan,"  inter- 
posed Benjamin,  speaking  sternly  behind  him.  "  The  next 
time  you  address  her,  remember,  if  you  please,  that  you  have 
no  business  with  her  Christian  name." 

Benjamin's  rebuke  passed,  like  Benjamin's  retort,  unheed- 
ed and  unheard.  To  all  appearance,  Miserrimus  Dexter  had 
completely  forgotten  that  there  was  such  a  person  in  the 
room. 

"  You  have  delighted  me  with  the  sight  of  you,"  he  went 
on.  "Add  to  the  pleasure  by  letting  me  hear  your  voice. 
Talk  to  me  of  yourself.  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing 
since  you  left  England." 

It  was  necessary  to  my  object  to  set  the  conversation  afloat ; 
and  this  was  as  good  a  way  of  doing  it  as  any  other.  I  told 
him  plainly  how  I  had  been  employed  during  my  absence. 

"  So  you  are  still  fond  of  Eustace  ?"  he  said,  bitterly. 

"  I  love  him  more  dearly  than  ever." 

He  lifted  his  hands,  and  hid  his  face.  After  waiting  a 
while,  he  went  on,  speaking  in  an  odd,  muffled  manner,  still 
under  cover  of  his  hands. 

"  And  you  leave  Eustace  in  Spain,"  he  said  ;  "and  you  re- 
turn to  England  by  yourself!  What  made  you  do  that?" 

"  What  made  me  first  come  here  and  ask  you  to  help  me, 
Mr.  Dexter  ?" 

He  dropped  his  hands,  and  looked  at  me.  I  saw  in  his 
eyes,  not  amazement  only,  but  alarm. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  you  won't  let  that 
miserable  matter  rest  even  yet?  Are  you  still  determined 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  at  Gleninch  ?" 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    I.ADV.  291 

"I  am  still  determined,  Mr.  Dexter;  and  I  still  hope  that 
you  may  be  able  to  help  me." 

The  old  distrust  that  I  remembered  so  well  darkened  again 
over  his  face  the  moment  I  said  those  words. 

"  How  can  I  help  you  ?"  he  asked.  "  Can  I  alter  facts  ?" 
He  stopped.  His  lace  brightened  again,  as  if  some  sudden 
sense  of  relief  had  come  to  him.  "  I  did  try  to  help  you," 
lie  went  on.  "  I  told  you  that  Mrs.  Beauly's  absence  was  a 
device  to  screen  herself  from  suspicion ;  I  told  you  that  the 
poison  might  have  been  given  by  Mrs.  Beauly's  maid.  Has 
reflection  convinced  you  ?  Do  you  see  something  in  the 
idea?" 

This  return  to  Mrs.  Beauly  gave  me  my  first  chance  of 
leading  the  talk  to  the  right  topic. 

"  I  see  nothing  in  the  idea,"  I  answered.  "  I  see  no  mo- 
tive. Had  the  maid  any  reason  to  be  an  enemy  to  the  late 
Mrs.  Eustace  ?" 

"  Nobody  had  any  reason  to  be  an  enemy  to  the  late  Mrs. 
Eustace  !"  he  broke  out,  loudly  and  vehemently.  "  She  was 
all  goodness,  all  kindness;  she  never  injured  any  human  creat- 
ure in  thought  or  deed.  She  was  a  saint  upon  earth.  Re- 
spect her  memory  !  Let  the  martyr  rest  in  her  grave  !"  He 
covered  his  face  again  with  his  hands,  and  shook  and  shud- 
dered under  the  paroxysm  of  emotion  that  I  had  roused  in  him. 

Ariel  suddenly  and  softly  left  her  stool,  and  approached  me. 

"Do  you  see  my  ten  claws?"  she  whispered,  holding  out 
her  hands.  "  Vex  the  Master  again,  and  you  will  feel  my 
ten  claws  on  your  throat !" 

Benjamin  rose  from  his  seat :  he  had  seen  the  action,  with- 
out hearing  the  words.  I  signed  to  him  to  keep  his  place. 
Ariel  returned  to  her  stool,  and  looked  up  again  at  her 
master. 

"  Don't  cry,"  she  said.  "  Come  on.  Here  are  the  strings. 
Tease  me  again.  Make  me  screech  with  the  smart  of  it." 

He  never  answered,  and  never  moved. 

Ariel  bent  her  slow  mind  to  meet  the  difficulty  of  attract- 
ing his  attention.  I  saw  it  in  her  frowning  brows,  in  her 
colorless  eyes  looking  at  me  vacantly.  On  a  sudden,  she  joy- 
fully struck  the  open  palm  of  one  of  her  hands  with  the  fist 
of  the  other.  She  had  triumphed.  She  had  got  an  idea. 

"  Master !"  she  cried.  "  Master  !  You  haven't  told  me  a 
story  for  ever  so  long.  Puzzle  my  thick  head.  Make  my 


292  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

flesh  creep.  Come  on.  A  good  long  story.  All  blood  and 
crimes." 

Had  she  accidentally  hit  on  the  right  suggestion  to  strike 
his  wayward  fancy  ?  I  knew  his  high  opinion  of  his  own 
skill  in  "  dramatic  narrative."  I  knew  that  one  of  his  favor- 
ite amusements  was  to  puzzle  Ariel  by  telling  her  stories 
that  she  could  not  understand.  Would  he  wander  away 
into  the  regions  of  wild  romance  ?  Or  would  he  remember 
that  my  obstinacy  still  threatened  him  with  reopening  the 
inquiry  into  the  tragedy  at  Gleriinch  ?  and  would  he  set  his 
cunning  at  work  to  mislead  me  by  some  new  stratagem? 
This  latter  course  was  the  course  which  my  past  experience 
of  him  suggested  that  he  would  take.  But,  to  my  surprise 
and  alarm,  I  found  my  past  experience  at  fault.  Ariel  succeed- 
ed in  diverting  his  mind  from  the  subject  which  had  been  in 
full  possession  of  it  the  moment  before  she  spoke  !  He  showed 
his  face  again.  It  was  overspread  by  a  broad  smile  of  grati- 
fied self-esteem.  He  was  weak  enough  now  to  let  even  Ariel 
find  her  way  to  his  vanity.  I  saw  it  with  a  sense  of  misgiv- 
ing, with  a  doubt  whether  I  had  not  delayed  my  visit  until 
too  late,  which  turned  me  cold  from  head  to  foot. 

Miserrimus  Dexter  spoke — to  Ariel,  not  to  me. 

"  Poor  devil !"  he  said,  patting  her  head  complacently. 
"  You  don't  understand  a  word  of  my  stories,  do  you  ?  And 
yet  I  can  make  the  flesh  creep  on  your  great  clumsy  body — 
and  yet  I  can  hold  your  muddled  mind,  and  make  you  like 
it.  Poor  devil !"  He  leaned  back  serenely  in  his  chair, 
and  looked  my  way  again.  Would  the  sight  of  me  remind 
him  of  the  words  that  had  passed  between  us  not  a  minute 
since  ?  No !  There  was  the  pleasantly  tickled  self-conceit 
smiling  at  me  exactly  as  it  had  smiled  at  Ariel.  "  I  excel  in 
dramatic  narrative,  Mrs.Valeria,"  he  said.  "  And  this  creat- 
ure here  on  the  stool  is  a  remarkable  proof  of  it.  She  is  quite 
a  psychological  study  when  I  tell  her  one  of  my  stories.  It  is 
really  amusing  to  see  the  half-witted  wretch's  desperate  ef- 
forts to  understand  me.  You  shall  have  a  specimen.  I  have 
been  out  of  spirits  while  you  were  away — I  haven't  told  her 
a  story  for  weeks  past ;  I  will  tell  her  one  no.w.  Don't  sup- 
pose it's  any  effort  to  me  !  My  invention  is  inexhaustible. 
You  are  sure  to  be  amused — you  are  naturally  serious — but 
you  are  sure  to  be  amused.  I  am  naturally  serious  too  ;  and 
I  always  laugh  at  her." 


THE    LAW    AND  THE    LADY.  293 

Ariel  clapped  her  great  shapeless  hands.  "  He  always 
laughs  at  me.!"  she  said,  with  a  proud  look  of  superiority 
directed  straight  at  me. 

I  was  at  a  loss,  seriously  at  a  loss,  what  to  do.  The  out- 
break which  I  had  provoked  in  leading  him  to  speak  of  the 
late  Mrs.  Eustace  warned  me  to  be  careful,  and  to  wait  for 
my  opportunity  before  I  reverted  to  that  subject.  How  else 
could  I  turn  the  conversation  so  as  to  lead  him,  little  by 
little,  toward  the  betrayal  of  the  secrets  which  he  was  keep- 
ing from  me  ?  In  this  uncertainty,  one  thing  only  seemed 
to  be  plain.  To  let  him  tell  his  story  would  be  simply  to 
let  him  waste  the  precious  minutes.  With  a  vivid  remem- 
brance of  Ariel's  "  ten  claws,"  I  decided,  nevertheless,  on  dis- 
couraging Dexter's  new  whim  at  every  possible  opportunity 
and  by  every  means  in  my  power. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Valeria,"  he  began,  loudly  and  loftily,  "  listen. 
Now,  Ariel,  bring  your  brains  to  a  focus.  I  improvise 
poetry ;  I  improvise  fiction.  We  will  begin  with  the  good 
old  formula  of  the  fairy  stories.  Once  upon  a  time — " 

I  was  waiting  for  my  opportunity  to  interrupt  him  when 
he  interrupted  himself.  He  stopped,  with  a  bewildered  look. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  passed  it  backward  and 
forward  over  his  forehead.  He  laughed  feebly. 

"  I  seem  to  want  rousing,"  he  said. 

Was  his  mind  gone  ?  There  had  been  no  signs  of  it  until  I 
had  unhappily  stirred  his  memory  of  the  dead  mistress  of 
Gleninch.  Was  the  weakness  which  I  had  already  noticed, 
was  the  bewilderment  which  I  now  saw,  attributable  to  the 
influence  of  a  passing  disturbance  only  ?  In  other  words, 
had  I  witnessed  nothing  more  serious  than  a  first  warning  to 
him  and  to  us  ?  Would  he  soon  recover  himself,  if  we  were 
patient,  and  gave  him  time  ?  Even  Benjamin  was  interested 
at  last ;  I  saw  him  trying  to  look  at  Dexter  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  chair.  Even  Ariel  was  surprised  and  uneasy.  She 
had  no  dark  glances  to  cast  at  me  now. 

We  all  waited  to  see  what  he  would  do,  ,to  hear  what  he 
would  say,  next. 

"  My  harp!"  he  cried.     "Music  will  rouse  me." 

Ariel  brought  him  his  harp. 

'•  Master,"  she  said,  wonderingly, "  what's  come  to  you  "ih- 

He  waved  his  hand,  commanding  her  to  be  silent.      .0  my 

"Ode  to  Invention,"  he  announced,  loftily,  addrc-ssi- 


294  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

self  to  me.     "Poetry  and  music  improvised  by  Dexter.     Si- 
lence !     Attention !" 

His  fingers  wandered  feebly  over  the  harp-strings,  awak- 
ening no  melody,  suggesting  no  words.  In  a  little  while 
his  hand  dropped ;  his  head  sank  forward  gently,  and  rested 
on  the  frame  of  the  harp.  I  started  to  my  feet,  and  ap- 
proached him.  Was  it  a  sleep  ?  or  was  it  a  swoon  ? 

I  touched  his  arm,  and  called  to  him  by  his  name. 

Ariel  instantly  stepped  between  us,  with  a  threatening 
look  at  me.  At  the  same  moment  Miserrimus  Dexter  raised 
his  head.  My  voice  had  reached  him.  He  looked  at  me 
with  a  curious  contemplative  quietness  in  his  eyes  which  I 
had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

"  Take  away  the  harp,"  he  said  to  Ariel,  speaking  in  lan- 
guid tones,  like  a  man  who  was  very  weary. 

The  mischievous,  half-witted  creature — in  sheer  stupidity 
or  in  downright  malice,  I  am  not  sure  which — irritated  him 
once  more. 

"  Why,  Master?"  she  asked,  staring  at  him  with  the  harp 
hugged  in  her  arms.  "  What's  come  to  you  ?  where  is  the 
story  ?" 

"  We  don't  want  the  story,"  I  interposed.  "  I  have  many 
things  to  say  to  Mr.  Dexter  which  I  have  not  said  yet." 

Ariel  lifted  her  heavy  hand.  "  You  will  have  it !"  she 
said,  and  advanced  toward  me.  At  the  same  moment  the 
Master's  voice  stopped  her. 

"  Put  away  the  harp,  you  fool !"  he  repeated,  sternly. 
"And  wait  for  the  story  until  I  choose  to  tell  it." 

She  took  the  harp  submissively  back  to  its  place  at  the  end 
of  the  room.  Miserrimus  Dexter  moved  his  chair  a  little 
closer  to  mine.  "I  know  what  will  rouse  me,"  he  said,  con- 
fidentially. "Exercise  will  do  it.  I  have  had  no  exercise 
lately.  Wait  a  little,  and  you  will  see." 

He  put  his  hands  on  the  machinery  of  the  chair,  and  start- 
ed on  his  customary  course  down  the  room.  Here  again  the 
ominous  change  in  him  showed  itself  under  a  new  form. 
The  pace  at  which  he  traveled  was  not  the  furious  pace  that 
I  remembered ;  the  chair  no  longer  rushed  under  him  on 
Crumbling  and  whistling  wheels.  It  went,  but  it  went  slow- 
You  Up  the  room  and  down  the  room  he  painfully  urged  it 
you  a?  then  he  stopped  for  want  of  breath. 
I  al \vayiollo wed  him.  Ariel  was  first,  and  Benjamin  was  by 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  295 

my  side.  He  motioned  impatiently  to  both  of  them  to  stand 
back,  and  to  let  me  approach  him  alone. 

"  I'm  out  of  practice,"  he  said,  faintly.  "  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  make  the  wheels  roar  and  the  floor  tremble  while 
you  were  away." 

Who  would  not  have  pitied  him?  Who  would  have  re- 
membered his  misdeeds  at  that  moment?  Even  Ariel  felt 
it.  I  heard  her  beginning  to  whine  and  whimper  behind 
me.  The  magician  who  alone  could  rouse  the  dormant  sen- 
sibilities in  her  nature  had  awakened  them  now  by  his  neg- 
lect. Her  fatal  cry  was  heard  again,  in  mournful,  moaning 
tones — 

"  What's  come  to  you,  Master  ?     Where's  the  story  ?" 

"Never  mind  her,"  I  whispered  to  him.  "You  want  the 
fresh  air.  Send  for  the  gardener.  Let  us  take  a  drive  in 
your  pony-chaise." 

It  was  useless.  Ariel  would  be  noticed.  The  mournful 
cry  came  once  more — 

"Where's  the"  story?  where's  the  story?" 

The  sinking  spirit  leaped  up  in  Dexter  again. 

"  You  wretch  !  you  fiend !"  he  cried,  whirling  his  chair 
around,  and  facing  her.  "  The  story  is  coming.  I  can  tell 
it !  I  will  tell  it !  •  Wine  !  You  whimpering  idiot,  get  me 
the  wine.  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before?  The  kingly 
Burgundy  !  that's  what  I  want,  Valeria,  to  set  my  invention 
alight  and  flaming  in  my  head.  Glasses  for  every  body ! 
Honor  to  the  King  of  the  Vintages — the  Royal  Clos  Vou- 
geot !" 

Ariel  opened  the  cupboard  in  the  alcove,  and  produced 
the  wine  and  the  high  Venetian  glasses.  Dexter  drained 
his  gobletful  of  Burgundy  at  a  draught ;  he  forced  us  to 
drink  (or  at  least  to  pretend  to  drink)  with  him.  Even  Ariel 
had  her  share  this  time,  and  emptied  her  glass  in  rivalry 
with  her  master.  The  powerful  wine  mounted  almost  in- 
stantly to  her  weak  head.  She  began  to  sing  hoarsely  a 
song  of  her  own  devising,  in  imitation  of  Dexter.  It  was 
nothing  but  the  repetition,  the  endless  mechanical  repetition, 
of  her  demand  for  the  story — "  Tell  us  the  story.  Master  ! 
master!  tell  us  the  story!"  Absorbed  over  his  wine,  the 
Master  silently  filled  his  goblet  for  the  second  time.  I'x-ii- 
jainin  whispered  to  me,  while  his  eye  was  off  us,  "Take  my 
advice,  Valeria,  for  once  ;  let  us  go." 


296  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  One  last  effort,"  I  whispered  back.     "  Only  one  !" 

Ariel  went  drowsily  on  with  her  song — 

"  Tell  us  the  story.  '  Master !  master !  tell  us  the  story." 

Miserrimus  Dexter  looked  up  from  his  glass.  The  gener- 
ous stimulant  was  beginning  to  do  its  work.  I  saw  the  col- 
or rising  in  his  face.  I  saw  the  bright  intelligence  flashing 
again  in  his  eyes.  The  Burgundy  had  roused  him!  The 
good  wine  stood  my  friend,  and  offered  me  a  last  chance  ! 

"  No  story,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Mr.  Dexter. 
I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  a  story." 

"  Not  in  the  humor?"  he  repeated,  with  a  gleam  of  the  old 
impish  irony  showing  itself  again  in  his  face.  "  That's  an 
excuse.  I  see  what  it  is !  You  think  my  invention  is  gone 
— and  you  are  not  frank  enough  to  confess  it.  I'll  show  you 
you're  wrong.  I'll  show  you  that  Dexter  is  himself  again. 
Silence,  you  Ariel,  or  you  shall  leave  the  room  !  I  have  got 
it,  Mrs.  Valeria,  all  laid  out  here,  with  scenes  and  chai'acters 
complete."  He  touched  his  forehead,  and  looked  at  me  with 
a  furtive  and  smiling  cunning  before  he  added  his  next 
words.  "  It's  the  very  thing  to  interest  you,  my  fair  friend. 
It's  the  story  of  a  Mistress  and  a  Maid.  Come  back  to  the 
fire  and  hear  it." 

The  Story  of  a  Mistress  and  a  Maid  ?  If  that  meant  any 
thing,  it  meant  the  story  of  Mrs.  Beauly  and  her  maid,  told 
in  disguise. 

The  title,  and  the  look  which  had  escaped  him  when  he  an- 
nounced it,  revived  the  hope  that  was  well-nigh  dead  in  me. 
He  had  rallied  at  last.  He  was  again  in  possession  of  his 
natural  foresight  and  his  natural  cunning.  Under  pretense 
of  telling  Ariel  her  story,  he  was  evidently  about  to  make 
the  attempt  to  mislead  me  for  the  second  time.  The  con- 
clusion was  irresistible.  To  use  his  own  words — Dexter 
was  himself  again. 

I  took  Benjamin's  arm  as  we  followed  him  back  to  the  fire- 
place in  the  middle  of  the  room.  "  There  is  a  chance  for  me 
yet,"  I  whispered.  "  Don't  forget  the  signals." 

We  returned  to  the  'places  which  we  had  already  occu- 
pied. Ariel  cast  another  threatening  look  at  me.  She  had 
just  sense  enough  left,  after  emptying  her  goblet  of  wine,  to 
be  on  the  watch  for  a  new  interruption  on  my  part.  I  took 
care,  of  course,  that  nothing  of  the  sort  should  happen.  I 
was  now  as  eager  as  Ariel  to  hear  the  story.  The  subject 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  297 

was  full  of  snares  for  the  narrator.  At  any  moment,  in  the 
excitement  of  speaking,  Dexter's  memory  of  the  true  events 
might  show  itself  reflected  in  the  circumstances  of  the  fic- 
tion. At  any  moment  he  might  betray  himself. 

lie  looked  around  him,  and  began. 

"  My  public,  are  you  seated  ?  My  public,  are  you  ready  ?" 
he  asked,  gayly.  "  Your  face  a  little  more  this  way,"  he  add- 
ed, in  his  softest  and  tenderest  tones,  motioning  to  me  to 
turn  my  full  face  toward  him.  "Surely  I  am  not  asking  too 
much  ?  You  look  at  the  meanest  creature  that  crawls — look 
at  Me.  Let  me  find  my  inspiration  in  your  eyes.  Let  me 
feed  my  hungry  admiration  on  your  form.  Come,  have  one 
little  pitying  smile  left  for  the  man  whose  happiness  you 
have  wrecked.  Thank  you,  Light  of  my  Life,  thank  you  !" 
He  kissed  his  hand  to  me,  and  threw  himself  back  luxurious- 
ly in  his  chair.  "  The  story,"  he  resumed.  "  The  story  at 
last!  In  what  form  shall  I  cast  it?  In  the  dramatic  form 
— the  oldest  way,  the  truest  way,  the  shortest  way  of  telling 
a  story!  Title  first.  A  short  title,  a  taking  title:  'Mis- 
tress and  Maid.'  Scene,  the  land  of  romance — Italy.  Time, 
the  age  of  romance  —  the  fifteenth"  century.  Ha!  look  at 
Ariel.  She  knows  no  more  about  the  fifteenth  century  than 
the  cat  in  the  kitchen,  and  yet  she  is  interested  already. 
Happy  Ariel !" 

Ariel  looked  at  me  again,  in  the  double  intoxication  of  the 
wine  and  the  triumph. 

"I  know  no  more  than  the  cat  in  the  kitchen,"  she  repeat- 
ed, with  a  broad  grin  of  gratified  vanity.  "  I  am  '  happy 
Ariel !'  What  are  you  ?" 

Miserrimus  Dexter  laughed  uproariously. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?"  he  said.  "  Isn't  she  fun  ?— Persons 
of  the  Drama,"  he  resumed :  "  three  in  number.  Women 
only.  Angelica,  a  noble  lady;  noble  alike  in  spirit  and  in 
birth.  Cunegonda,  a  beautiful  devil  in  woman's  form.  Da- 
moride,  her  unfortunate  maid.  First  scene  :  a  dark  vaulted 
chamber  in  a  castle.  Time,  evening.  The  owls  are  hoot- 
ing in  the  wood  ;  the  frogs  are  creating  in  the  marsh. — Look 
at  Ariel !  Her  flesh  creeps;  she  shudders  audibly.  Admir- 
able Ariel !" 

My  rival  in  the  Master's  favor  eyed  me  defiantly.  "Ad- 
mirable Ariel !"  she  repeated,  in  drowsy  accents.  Miserrimus 
Dexter  paused  to  take  up  his  goblet  of  Burgundy — placed 


298  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

close  at  hand  on  a  little  sliding  table  attached  to  his  chair. 
I  watched  him  narrowly  as  he  sipped  the  wine.  The  flush 
was  still  mounting  in  his  face ;  the  light  was  still  brightening 
in  his  eyes.  He  set  down  his  glass  again,  with  a  jovial  smack 
of  his  lips — and  went  on  : 

"  Persons  present  in  the  vaulted  chamber :  Cunegonda  and 
Damoride.  Cunegonda  speaks.  '  Damoride  !'  '  Madam  ?' 
'  Who  lies  ill  in  the  chamber  above  us  ?'  '  Madam,  the  no- 
ble lady  Angelica.'  (A  pause.  Cunegonda  speaks  again.) 
'Damoride!'  'Madam?'  'How  does  Angelica  like  you?' 
'Madam, the  noble  la  ly,  sweet  and  good  to  all  who  approach 
her,  is  sweet  and  good  to  me.'  '  Have  you  attended  on  her, 
Damoride  ?'  '  Sometimes,  madam,  when  the  nurse  was  weary.' 
'  Has  she  taken  her  healing  medicine  from  your  hand  ?'  '  Once 
or  twice,  madam,  when  I  happened  to  be  by.'  'Damoride, 
take  this  key  and  open  the  casket  on  the  table  there.'  (Damo- 
ride obeys.)  'Do  you  see  a  green  vial  in  the  casket?'  'I 
see  it,  madam.'  '  Take  it  out.'  (Damoride  obeys.)  '  Do  you 
see  a  liquid  in  the  green  vial?  can  you  guess  what  it  is?' 
'  No,  madam.'  '  Shall  I  tell  you  ?'  (Damoride  bows  respect- 
fully.) '  Poison  is  in  the  vial.'  (Damoride  starts ;  she  shrinks 
from  the  poison ;  she  would  fain  put  it  aside.  Her  mistress 
signs  to  her  to  keep  it  in  her  hand ;  her  mistress  speaks.) 
'  Damoride,  I  have  told  you  one  of  my  secrets ;  shall  I  tell 
you  another?'  (Damoride  waits,  fearing  what  is  to  come. 
Her  mistress  speaks.)  'I  hate  the  Lady  Angelica.  Her  life 
stands  between  me  and  the  joy  of  my  heart.  You  hold  her 
life  in  your  hand.'  (Damoride  drops  on  her  knees;  she  is  a 
devout  person ;  she  crosses  herself,  and  then  she  speaks.) 
'  Mistress,  you  terrify  me.  Mistress,  what  do  I  hear?'  (Cune- 
gonda advances,  stands  over  her,  looks  down  on  her  with 
terrible  eyes,  whispers  the  next  words.)  'Damoride!  the 
Lady  Angelica  must  die — and  I  must  not  be  suspected.  The 
Lady  Angelica  must  die — and  by  your  hand.' " 

He  paused  again.  To  sip  the  wine  once  more?  No;  to 
drink  a  deep  draught  of  it  this  time. 

Was  the  stimulant  befinning  to  fail  him  already? 

I  looked  at  him  attentively  as  he  laid  himself  back  again 
in  his  chair  to  consider  for  a  moment  before  he  went  on. 

The  flush  on  his  face  was  as  deep  as  ever ;  but  the  bright- 
ness in  his  eyes  was  beginning  to  fade  already.  I  had  no^ 
ticed  that  he  spoke  more  and  more  slowly  as  he  advanced  to 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  299 

the  later  dialogue  of  the  scene.  "Was  he  feeling  the  effort 
of  invention  already?  Had  the  time  come  when  the  wine 
had  done  all  that  the  wine  could  do  for  him  ? 

We  waited.  Ariel  sat  watching  him  with  vacantly  star- 
ing eyes  and  vacantly  open  mouth.  Benjamin,  impenetrably 
expecting  the  signal,  kept  his  open  note-book  on  his  knee, 
covered  by  his  hand. 

Miserrimus  Dexter  went  on  : 

"  Damoride  hears  those  terrible  words ;  Damoride  clasps 
her  hands  in  entreaty.  '  Oh,  madam  !  madam  !  how  can  I 
kill  the  dear  and  noble  lady  ?  What  motive  have  I  for  harm- 
ing her  ?'  Cunegonda  answers,  '  You  have  the  motive  of 
obeying  Me.'  (Damoride  falls  with  her  face  on  the  floor  at 
her  mistress's  feet.)  '  Madam,  I  can  not  do  it !  Madam,  I  dare 
not  do  it!'  Cunegonda  answers, 'You  run  no  risk:  I  have 
my  plan  for  diverting  discovery  from  myself,  and  my  plan 
for  diverting  discovery. from  you.'  Damoride  repeats, '  I  can 
not  do  it !  I  dare  not  do  it !'  Cunegonda's  eyes  flash 
lightnings  of  rage.  She  takes  from  its  place  of  concealment 
in  her  bosom — " 

He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  sentence,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  head — not  like  a  man  in  pain,  but  like  a  man  who  had 
lost  his  idea. 

Would  it  be  well  if  I  tried  to  help  him  to  recover  his  idea? 
or  would  it  be  wiser  (if  I  could  only  do  it)  to  keep  silence  ? 

I  could  see  the  drift  of  his  story  plainly  enough.  His  ob- 
ject, under  the  thin  disguise  of  the  Italian  romance,  was  to 
meet  my  unanswerable  objection  to  suspecting  Mrs.  Beauly's 
maid — the  objection  that  the  woman  had  no  motive  for  com- 
mitting herself  to  an  act  of  murder.  If  he  could  practically 
contradict  this,  by  discovering  a  motive  which  I  should  be 
obliged  to  admit,  his  end  would  be  gained.  Those  inquiries 
which  I  had  pledged  myself  to  pursue — those  inquiries  which 
might,  at  any  moment,  take  a  turn  that  directly  concerned 
him — would,  in  that  ca*<?,  be  successfully  diverted  from  the 
right  to  the  wrong  person.  The  innocent  maid  would  set 
my  strictest  scrutiny  at  defiance  ;§an,d  Dexter  would  be 
safely  shielded  behind  her. 

I  determined  to  give  him  time.    Not  a  word  passed  my  lips. 

The  minutes  followed  each  other.  I  waited  in  the  deepest 
anxiety.  It  was  a  trying  and  a  critical  moment.  If  he  suc- 
ceeded in  inventing  a  probable  motive,  and  in  shaping  it 


300  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

neatly  to  suit  the  purpose  of  his  story,  he  would  prove,  by 
that  act  alone,  that  there  were  reserves  of  mental  power  still 
left  in  him  which  the  practiced  eye  of  the  Scotch  doctor  had 
failed  to  see.  But  the  question  was — would  he  do  it  ? 

He  did  it !  Not  in  a  new  way ;  not  in  a  convincing  way ; 
not  without  a  painfully  evident  effort.  Still,  well  done  or  ill 
done,  he  found  a  motive  for  the  maid. 

"  Cunegonda,"  he  resumed,  "  takes  from  its  place  of  con- 
cealment in  her  bosom  a  written  paper,  and  unfolds  it.  '  Look 
at  this,'  she  says.  Damoride  looks  at  the  paper,  and  sinks 
again  at  her  mistress's  feet  in  a  paroxysm  of  horror  and  de- 
spair. Cunegonda  is  in  possession  of  a  shameful  secret  in 
the  maid's  past  life.  Cunegonda  can  say  to  her, '  Choose  your 
alternative.  Either  submit  to  an  exposure  which  disgraces 
you  and  disgraces  your  parents  forever — or  make  up  your 
mind  to  obey  Me.'  Damoride  might  submit  to  the  disgrace 
if  it  only  affected  herself.  But  her  parents  are  honest  peo- 
ple ;  she  can  not  disgrace  her  parents.  She  is  driven  to  her 
last  refuge — there  is  no  hope  of  melting  the  hard  heart  of 
Cunegonda.  Her  only  resource  is  to  raise  difficulties;  she 
tries  to  show  that  there  are  obstacles  between  her  and  the 
crime.  '  Madam  !  madam  !'  she  cries ;  '  how  can  I  do  it,  when 
the  nurse  is  there  to  see  me  ?'  Cunegonda  answers, '  Some- 
times the  nurse  sleeps ;  sometimes  the  nurse  is  away.'  Damo- 
ride still  persists.  '  Madam !  madam  !  the  door  is  kept  locked, 
and  the  nurse  has  got  the  key.' " 

The  key !  I  instantly  thought  of  the  missing  key  at  Glen- 
inch.  Had  he  thought  of  it  too  ?  He  certainly  checked  him- 
self as  the  word  escaped  him.  I  resolved  to  make  the  signal. 
I  rested  my  elbow  on  the  arm  of  my  chair,  and  played  with 
my  earring.  Benjamin  took  out  his  pencil  and  arranged  his 
note-book  so  that  Ariel  could  not  see  what  he  was  about  if 
she  happened  to  look  his  way. 

We  waited  until  it  pleased  Miserrimus  Dexter  to  proceed. 
The  interval  was  a  long  one.  His"  hand  went  up  again  to 
his  forehead.  A  duller  and  duller  look  was  palpably  stealing 
over  his  eyes.  When  he  did  speak,  it  was  not  to -go  on  with 
the  narrative,  but  to  put  a  question. 

"  Where  did  I  leave  off?"  he  asked. 

My  hopes  sank  again  as  rapidly  as  they  had  risen.  I  man- 
aged to  answer  him,  however,  without  showing  any  change 
in  my  manner. 


THE    LAW    AM)    THE    LADY.  301 

"  You  left  off,"  I  said,  "  where  Damoride  was  speaking  to 
Cunegonda — " 

"Yes,  yes!"  he  interposed.     "And  what  did  she  say?" 

"  She  said, '  The  door  is  kept  locked,  and  the  nurse  has  got 
the  key.'" 

lie  instantly  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 

"  No  !"  he  answered,  vehemently.  "  You're  wrong.  '  Key  ?' 
Nonsense !  I  never  said  '  Key.' " 

"  I  thought  you  did,  Mr.  Dexter." 

"  I  never  did !  I  said  something  else,  and  you  have  for- 
gotten it." 

I  refrained  from  disputing  with  him,  in  fear  of  what  might 
follow.  We  waited  again.  Benjamin,  sullenly  submitting 
to  my  caprices,  had  taken  down  the  questions  and  answers 
that  had  passed  between  Dexter  and  myself.  He  still  me- 
chanically kept  his  page  open,  and  still  held  his  pencil  in 
readiness  to  go  on.  Ariel,  quietly  submitting  to  the  drowsy 
influence  of  the  Avine  while  Dexter's  voice  was  in  her  ears, 
felt  uneasily  the  change  to  silence.  She  glanced  round  her 
restlessly ;  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  "  the  Master." 

There  he  sat,  silent,  with  his  hand  to  his  head,  still  strug- 
gling to  marshal  his  wandering  thoughts,  still  trying  to  sec 
light  through  the  darkness  that  was  closing  round  him. 

"  Master  !"  cried  Ariel,'  piteously.  "  What's  become  of 
the  story  ?" 

He  started  as  if  she  had  awakened  him  out  of  a  sleep;  he 
shook  his  head  impatiently,  as  though  he  wanted  to  throw 
off  some  oppression  that  weighed  upon  it. 

"Patience,  patience,"  he  said.  "The  story  is  going  on 
again." 

He  dashed  at  it.desperately ;  he  picked  up  the  first  lost 
thread  that  fell  in  his  way,  reckless  whether  it  were  the  right 
thread  or  the  wrong  one : 

"Damoride  fell  on  her  knees.  She  burst  into  tears.  She 
said—" 

He  stopped,  and  looked  about  him  with  vacant  eyes. 

"What  name  did  I  give  the  other  woman?"  he  asked, 
not  putting  the  question  to  me,  or  to  either  of  my  compan- 
ions: asking  it  of  himself,  or  asking  it  of  the  empty  air. 

"  You  called  the  other  woman  Cunegonda,"  I  said. 

At  the  sound  of  my  voice  his  eyes  turned  slowly — turned 
on  me,  and  yet  failed  to  look  at  me.  Dull  and  absent,  still 
O 


302  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

and  changeless,  they  were  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  fixed  on 
something  fur  away.  Even  his  voice  was  altered  when  lie 
spoke  next.  It  had  dropped  to  a  quiet,  vacant,  monotonous 
tone.  I  had  heard  something  like  it  while  I  was  watching 
by  my  husband's  bedside,  at  the  time  of  his  delirium — when 
Eustace's  mind  appeared  to  be  too  weary  to  follow  his  speech. 
Was  the  end  so  near  as  this? 

"I  called  her  Cunegonda,"  he  repeated.  "And  I  called 
the  other — " 

He  stopped  once  more. 

"And  you  called  the  other  Damoride,"  I  said. 

Ariel  looked  up  at  him  with  a  broad  stare  of  bewilder- 
ment. She  pulled  impatiently  at  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket  to 
attract  his  notice. 

"  Is  this  the  story,  Master  ?"  she  asked. 

He  answered  without  looking  at  her,  his  changeless  eyes 
still  fixed,  as  it  seemed,  on  something  far  away. 

"  This  is  the  story,"  he  said,  absently.  "  But  why  Cune- 
gonda? why  Damoride  ?  Why  not  Mistress  and  Maid  ?  It's 
easier  to  remember  Mistress  and  Maid — " 

He  hesitated ;  he  shivered  as  he  tried  to  raise  himself  in 
his  chair.  Then  he  seemed  to  rally.  "  What  did  the  Maid 
say  to  the  Mistress  ?"  he  muttered.  "  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?" 
He  hesitated  again.  Then  something  seemed  to  dawn  upon 
him  unexpectedly.  Was  it  some  new  thought  that  had 
struck  him  ?  or  some  lost  thought  that  he  had  recovered  ? 
Impossible  to  say. 

He  went  on,  suddenly  and  rapidly  went  on,  in  these  strange 
words : 

"  '  The  letter,'  the  Maid  said ;  '  the  letter.  Oh,  my  heart. 
Every  word  a  dagger.  A  dagger  in  my  heart.  Oh,  you  let- 
ter. Horrible,  horrible,  horrible  letter.' " 

What,  in  God's  name,  was  he  talking  about?  What  did 
those  words  mean  ? 

Was  he  unconsciously  pursuing  his  faint  and  fragmentary 
recollections  of  a  past  time  at  Gleninch,  under  the  delusion 
that  he  was  going  on  with  the  story?  In  the  wreck  of  the 
other  faculties,  was  memory  the  last  to  sink  ?  Was  the  truth, 
the  dreadful  truth,  glimmering  on  me  dimly  through  the  aw- 
ful shadow  cast  before  it  by  the  advancing  eclipse  of  the 
brain  ?  My  breath  failed  me ;  a  nameless  horror  crept  through 
my  whole  being. 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  303 

Benjamin,  with  his  pencil  in  his  hand,  cast  one  warning 
look  at  me.  Ariel  was  quiet  and  satisfied.  "  Go  on,  Mas- 
ter," was  all  she  said.  "I  like  it !  I  like  it !  Go  on  with 
the  story." 

He  went  on — like  a  man  sleeping  with  his  eyes  open,  and 
talking  in  his  sleep. 

"  The  Maid  said  to  the  Mistress.  No — the  Mistress  said 
to  the  Maid.  The  Mistress  said, '  Show  him  the  letter.  Must, 
must, must  do  it.'  The  Maid  said, 'No.  Mustn't  do  it.  Sha'n't 
show  it.  Stuff.  Nonsense.  Let  him  suffer.  We  can  get  him 
off.  Show  it  ?  No.  Let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst.  Show 
it,  then.'  The  Mistress  said — "  He  paused,  and  waved  his 
hand  rapidly  to  and  fro  before  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  brush- 
ing away  some  visionary  confusion  or  entanglement.  "  Which 
was  it  last?"  he  said — "Mistress  or  Maid?  Mistress?  No. 
Maid  speaks,  of  course.  Loud.  Positive.  '  You  scoundrels. 
Keep  away  from  that  table.  The  Diary's  there.  Number 
]S"ine,  Caldcrshaws.  Ask  for  Dandie.  You  sha'n't  have  the 
Diary.  A  secret  ia  your  ear.  The  Diary  will  hang  him.  I 
won't  have  him  hanged.  How  dare  you  touch  my  chair? 
My  chair  is  Me  !  How  dare  you  touch  Me  ?'" 

The  last  words  burst  on  me  like  a  gleam  of  light !  I  had 
read  them  in  the  Report  of  the  Trial — in  the  evidence  of  the 
sheriff's  officer.  Miserrimus  Dexter  had  spoken  in  those  very 
terms  when  he  had  tried  vainly  to  prevent  the  men  from  seiz- 
ing my  husband's  papers,  and  when  the  men  had  pushed  his 
chair  out  of  the  room.  There  was  no  doubt  now  of  what  his 
memory  was  busy  with.  The  mystery  at  Gleninch  !  His  last 
backward  flight  of  thought  circled  feebly  and.^norc  feebly 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  mystery  at  Gleninch! 

Ariel  aroused  him  again.  She  had  no  mercy  on  him  ;  she 
insisted  on  hearing  the  whole  story. 

"Why  do  you  stop,  Master?  Get  along  with  it!  get 
along  with  it !  Tell  us  quick — what  did  the  Missus  say  to 
the  Maid  V" 

He  laughed  feebly,  and  tried  to  imitate  her. 

'"What  did  the 'Missus  say  to  the  Maid?'"  he  repeated. 
His  laugh  died  away.  He  went  on  speaking,  more  and  more 
vacr.ntly,  more  and  more  rapidly.  "The  Mistress  said  to 
the  Maid,  '  We've  got  him  off.  What  about  the  letter? 
Burn  it  now.  No  fire  in  the  grate.  Xo  matches  in  the  box. 
Huuse  topsy-turvy.  Servants  all  gone.  Tear  it  up.  Shake 


304  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

it  up  in  the  basket.  Along  with  the  rest.  Shake  it  up. 
Waste  paper.  Throw  it  away.  Gone  forever.  Oh,  Sara, 
Sara,  Sara  !  Gone  forever.' " 

Ariel  clapped  her  hands,  and  mimicked  him  in  her  turn. 

" '  Oh,  Sara,  Sara,  Sara !' "  she  repeated.  " '  Gone  forever.' 
That's  prime,  Master !  Tell  us — who  was  Sara?" 

His  lips  moved,  but  his  voice  sank  so  low  that  I  could 
barely  hear  him.  He  began  again,  with  the  old  melancholy 
refrain : 

"  The  Maid  said  to  the  Mistress.  No— the  Mistress  said 
to  the  Maid — "  He  stopped  abruptly,  and  raised  himself 
erect  in  the  chair;  he  threw  up  both  his  hands  above  his 
head,  and  burst  into  a  frightful  screaming  laugh.  "Aha- 
ha-ha-ha  !  How  funny  !  Why  don't  you  laugh  ?  Funny, 
funny,  funny,  funny.  Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha — " 

He  fell  back  in  the  chair.  The  shrill  and  dreadful  laugh 
died  away  into  a  low  sob.  Then  there  was  one  long,  deep, 
wearily  drawn  breath.  Then  nothing  but  a  mute,  vacant 
face  turned  up  to  the  ceiling,  with  eyes  that  looked  blindly, 
with  lips  parted  in  a  senseless,  changeless  grin.  Nemesis  at 
last !  The  foretold  doom  had  fallen  on  him.  The  night  had 


But  one  feeling  animated  me  when  the  first  shock  was  over. 
Even  the  horror  of  that  fearful  sight  seemed  only  to  increase 
the  pity  that  I  felt  for  the  stricken  wretch.  I  started  im- 
pulsively to  my  feet.  Seeing  nothing,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  the  helpless  figure  in  the  chair,  I  sprang  forward  to  raise 
him,  to  revj^c  him,  to  recall  him  (if  such  a  thing  might  still 
be  possible)  to  himself.  At  the  first  step  that  I  took,  I  felt 
hands  on  me — I  was  violently  drawn  back.  "  Are  you  blind  ?" 
cried  Benjamin,  dragging  me  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  door. 
"  Look  there !" 

He  pointed;  and  I  looked. 

Ariel  had  been  beforehand  with  me.  She  had  raised  her 
master  in  the  chair ;  she  had  got  one  arm  around  him.  In 
her  free  hand  she  brandished  an  Indian  club,  torn  from  a 
"trophy"  of  Oriental  weapons  that  ornamented  the  wall 
over  the  fire-place.  The  creature  was  transfigured !  Her 
dull  eyes  glared  like  the  eyes  of  a  wild  animal.  She  gnashed 
her  teeth  in  the  frenzy  that  possessed  her.  "  You  have  done 
this !"  she  shouted  to  me,  waving  the  club  furiously  around 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADV.  305 

and  around  over  her  head.  "  Come  near  him,  and  I'll  dash 
your  brains  out !  I'll  mash  3-011  till  there's  not  a  whole  bone 
left  in  your  skin  !"  Benjamin,  still  holding  me  with  one  hand, 
opened  the  door  with  the  other.  I  let  him  do  with  me  as  he 
would ;  Ariel  fascinated  me ;  I  could  look  at  nothing  but 
Ariel.  Her  frenzy  vanished' as  she  saw  us  retreating.  She 
dropped  the  club;  she  threw  both  arms  around  him,  and 
nestled  her  head  on  his  bosom,  and  sobbed  and  wept  over 
him.  "  Master !  master  !  They  sha'n't  vex  you  any  more. 
Look  up  again.  Laugh  at  me  as  you  used  to  do.  Say,  'Ari- 
el, you're  a  fool.'  Be  like  yourself  again !"  I  was  forced 
into  the  next  room.  I  heard  a  long,  low,  wailing  cry  of  mis- 
ery from  the  poor  creature  who  loved  him  with  a  dog's  fidel- 
ity and  a  woman's  devotion.  The  heavy  door  was  closed  be- 
tween us.  I  was  in  the  quiet  antechamber,  crying  over  that 
piteous  sight ;  clinging  to  my  kind  old  friend  as  helpless  and 
as  useless  as  a  child. 

Benjamin  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"  There's  no  use  in  crying  about  it,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  It 
would  be  more  to  the  pappose,  Valeria,  if  you  thanked  God 
that  you  have  got  out  of  that  room  safe  and  sound.  Come 
with  me." 

He  took  the  key  out  of  the  lock,  and  led  rne  down-stairs 
into  the  hall.  After  a-  little  consideration,  he  opened  the 
front  door  of  the  house.  The  gardener  was  still  quietly  at 
work  in  the  grounds. 

"Your  master  is  taken  ill,"  Benjamin  said;  "and  the 
woman  who  attends  upon  him  has  lost  her  head  —  if  she 
ever  had  a  head,  to  lose.  Where  docs  the  Barest  doctor 
live  ?" 

The  man's  devotion  to  Dexter  showed  itself  as  the  wom- 
an's devotion  had  shown  itself — in  the  man's  rough  way. 
He  threw  down  his  spade  with  an  oath. 

"  The  Master  taken  bad  ?"  he  said.  "  I'll  fetch  the  doctor. 
I  shall  find  him  sooner  than  you  will." 

"Tell  the  doctor  to  bring  a  man  with  him,"  Benjamin 
added.  "He  may  want  help." 

The  gardener  turned  around  sternly. 

"I'm  the  man,"  he  said.     "  Xobody  shall  help  but  me." 

He  left  us.  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  chairs  in  the  hall, 
and  did  my  best  to  compose  myself.  Benjamin  walked  to 
and  fro,  deep  in  thought.  "  Both  of  them  fond  of  him,"  I 


30G  THE   LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

heard  my  old  friend  say  to  himself.  "  Half  monkey,  half 
man — and  both  of  them  fond  of  him.  That  beats  me." 

The  gardener  returned  with  the  doctor  —  a  quiet,  dark, 
resolute  man.  Benjamin  advanced  to  meet  them.  "  I  have 
got  the  key,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  go  up-stairs  with  you  ?" 

Without  answering,  the  doctor  drew  Benjamin  aside  into 
a  corner  of  the  hall.  The  two  talked  together  in  low  voices. 
At  the  end  of  it  the  doctor  said, "  Give  me  the  key.  You 
can  be  of  no  use  ;  you  will  only  irritate  her." 

With  those  words  he  beckoned  to  the  gardener.  He  was 
about  to  lead  the  way  up  the  stairs  when  I  ventured  to  stop 
him. 

"  May  I  stay  in  the  hall,  sir  ?"  I  said.  "  I  am  very  anxious 
to  hear  how  it  ends." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  before  he  replied. 

"  You  had  better  go  home,  madam,"  he  said.  "  Is  the 
gardener  acquainted  with  your  address  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  I  will  let  you  know  how  it  ends  by  means 
of  the  gardener.  Take  my  advice.  Go  home." 

Benjamin  placed  my  arm  in  his.  I  looked  back,  and  saw 
the  doctor  and  the  gardener  ascending  the  stairs  together 
on  their  way  to  the  lockcd-up  room. 

"Never  mind  the  doctor,"  I  whispered.  "Let's  wait  in 
the  garden."  ^ 

Benjamin  would  not  hear  of  deceiving  the  doctor.  "  I 
mean  to  take  you  home,"  he  said.  I  locked  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. My  old  friend,  who  was  all  meekness  and  submission 
so  long  as  there  was  no  emergency  to  try  him,  now  showed 
the  dormant  reserve  of  manly  spirit  and  decision  in  his  nat- 
ure as  he  had  never  (in  my  experience)  shown  it  yet.  He 
led  me  into  the  garden.  We  had  kept  our  cab :  it  was  wait- 
ing for  us  at  the  gate. 

On  our  way  home  Benjamin  produced  his  note-book. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  my  dear,  with  the  gibberish  that  I 
have  written  here  ?"  he  said. 

"  Have  you  written  it  all  down  ?"  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"When  I  undertake  a  duty,  I  do  it,"  he  answered.  "  You 
never  gave  me  the  signal  to  leave  off — you  never  moved 
your  chair.  I  have  written  every  word  of  it.  What  shall  I 
do  ?  Throw  it  out  of  the  cab  window  ?" 

"Give  it  to  me." 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  307 

':  What  are  you  going  to  tlo  with  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet.     I  will  ask  Mr.  Piny  more." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

ME.  PLAYMOEE    IN    A    NEW    CHARACTER. 

BY  that  night's  post — although  I  was  far  from  being  fit  to 
make  the  exertion  —  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Playraore,  to  tell  him 
what  had  taken  place,  and  to  beg  for  his  earliest  assistance 
and  advice. 

The  notes  in  Benjamin's  book  were  partly  written  in  short- 
hand, and  were,  on  that  account,  of  no  use  to  me  in  their  ex- 
isting condition.  At  my  request,  he  made  two  fair  copies. 
One  of  the  copies  I  inclosed  in  my  letter  to  Mr.  Play  more. 
The  other  I  laid  by  me,  on  my  bedside  table,  when  I  went 
to  rest. 

Over  and  over  again,  through  the  long  hours  of  the  wake- 
ful night,  I  read  and  reread  the  last  words  which  had 
dropped  from  Miserrimus  Dexter's  lips.  Was  it  possible  to 
interpret  them  to  any  useful  purpose?  At  the  very  outset 
they  seemed  to  set  interpretation  at  defiance.  After  trying 
vainly  to  solve  the  hopeless  problem,  I  did  at  last  what  I 
might  as  well  have  done  at  first — I  threw  down  the  paper  in 
despair.  Where  were  my  bright  visions  of  discovery  and 
success  now  ?  Scattered  to  the  winds !  Was  there  the 
faintest  chance  of  the  stricken  man's  return  to  reason  ?  I 
remembered  too  well  what  I  had  seen  to  hope  for  it.  The 
closing  lines  of  the  medical  report  which  I  had  read  in  Mr. 
Playmore's  oflice  recurred  to  my  memory  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night — u  When  the  catastrophe  has  happened,  his  friends 
can  entertain  no  hope  of  his  cure:  the  balance  once  lost,  will 
be  lost  for  life." 

The  confirmation  of  that  terrible  sentence  was  not  long  in 
reaching  me.  On  the  next  morning  the  gardener  brought  a 
note  containing  the  information  which  the  doctor  had  prom- 
ised to  give  me  on  the  previous  day. 

Miserrimus  Dexter  and  Ariel  were  still  where  Benjamin 
and  I  had  left  them  together — in  the  long  room.  They  were 
watched  by  skilled  attendants,  waiting  the  decision  of  Dex- 
ter's nearest  relative  (a  younger  brother),  who  lived  in  the 


308  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

country,  and  who  had  been  communicated  with  by  telegraph. 
It  had  been  found  impossible  to  part  the  faithful  Ariel  from 
her  master  without  using  the  bodily  restraints  adopted  in 
cases  of  raging  insanity.  The  doctor  and  the  gardener  (both 
unusually  strong  men)  had  failed  to  hold  the  poor  creature 
when  they  first  attempted  to  remove  her  on  entering  the 
room.  Directly  they  permitted  her  to  return  to  her  master 
the  frenzy  vanished :  she  was  perfectly  quiet  and  contented 
so  long  as  they  -let  her  sit  at  his  feet  and  look  at  him. 

Sad  as  this  was,  the  report  of  Miserrimus  Dexter's  condi- 
tion was  more  melancholy  still. 

"  My  patient  is  in  a  state  of  absolute  imbecility  " — those 
were  the  words  in  the  doctor's  letter ;  and  the  gardener's 
simple  narrative  confirmed  them  as  the  truest  words  that 
could  have  been  used.  He  was  utterly  unconscious  of  poor 
Ariel's  devotion  to  him — he  did  not  even  appear  to  know 
that  she  was  present  in  the  room.  For  hours  together  he 
remained  in  a  state  of  utter  lethargy  in  his  chair.  He  showed 
an  animal  interest  in  his  meals,  and  a  greedy  animal  enjoy- 
ment of  eating  and  drinking  as  much  as  he  could  get — and 
that  was  all.  "  This  morning,"  the  honest  gardener  said  to 
me  at  parting,  "  we  thought  he  seemed  to  wake  up  a  bit. 
Looked  about  him,  you  know,  and  made  queer  signs  with  his 
hands.  I  couldn't  make  out  what  he  meant ;  no  more  could 
the  doctor.  She  knew,  poor  thing — she  did.  "Went  and  got 
him  his  harp,  and  put  his  hand  up  to  it.  Lord  bless  you ! 
no  use.  He  couldn't  play  no  more  than  I  can.  Twanged  at 
it  anyhow,  and  grinned  and  gabbled  to  himself.  No  :  he'll 
never  come  right  again.  Any  person  can  see  that,  without 
the  doctor  to  help  'em.  Enjoys  his  meals,  as  I  told  you  ; 
and  that's  all.  It  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen 
if  it  would  please  God  to  take  him.  There's  no  more  to  be 
said.  I  wish  you  good-morning,  ma'am." 

He  went  away  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes ;  and  he  left  me, 
I  own  it,  with  the  tears  in  mine. 

An  hour  later  there  came  some  news  which  revived  me. 
I  received  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Playmore,  expressed  in  these 
welcome  words :  "  Obliged  to  go  to  London  by  to-night's 
mail  train.  Expect  me  to  breakfas't  to-morrow  morning." 

The  appearance  of  the  lawyer  at  our  breakfast-table  duly 
followed  the  appearance  of  his  telegram.  His  first  words 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADV.  309 

cheered  me.  '  To  my  infinite  surprise  and  relief,  lie  was  far 
from  sharing  the  despondent  view  which  I  took  of  rny  position. 

"  I  don't  deny,"  he  said, "  that  tliere  are  some  serious  ob- 
stacles in  your  way.  13 ut  I  should  never  have  called  here 
before  attending  to  my  professional  business  in  London  if  Mr. 
Benjamin's  notes  had  not  produced  a  very  strong  impression 
on  my  mind.  For  the  first  time,  as  I  think,  you  really  have 
a  prospect  of  success.  For  the  first  time,  I  feel  justified  in 
offering  (under  certain  restrictions)  to  help  you.  That  mis- 
erable wretch,  in  the  collapse  of  his  intelligence,  has  done 
what  he  would  never  have  done  in  the  possession  of  his 
sense  and  his  cunning — he  has  let  us  see  the  first  precious 
glimmerings  of  the  light  of  truth." 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  the  truth?"  I  asked. 

"In  two  important  particulars,"  he  answered,  "I  know  it 
to  be  the  truth.  Your  idea  about  him  is  the  right  one.  His 
memory  (as  you  suppose)  was  the  least  injured  of  his  facul- 
ties, and  was  the  last  to  give  way  under  the  strain  of  trying 
to  tell  that  story.  I  believe  his  memory  to  have  been  speak- 
ing to  you  (unconsciously  to  himself)  in  all  that  he  said 
from  the  moment  when  the  first  reference  to  'the  letter'  es- 
caped him  to  the  end." 

"  But  what  does  the  reference  to  the  letter  mean  ?"  I 
asked.  "  For  my  part,  I  am  entirely  in  the  dark  about  it." 

"So  am  I,"  he  answered,  frankly.  "The  chief  one  among 
the  obstacles  which  I  mentioned  just  now  is  the  obstacle 
presented  by  that  same  '  letter.'  The  late  Mrs.  Eustace  must 
have  been  connected  with  it  in  some  way,  or  Dexter  would 
never  have  spoken  of  it  as  'a  dagger  in  his  heart;'  Dexter 
would  never  have  coupled  her  name  with  the  words  which 
describe  the  tearing  up  of  the  letter  and  the  throwing  of  it 
away.  I  can  arrive  with  some  certainty  at  this  result,  and 
I  can  get  no  farther.  I  have  no  more  idea  than  you  have  of 
who  wrote  the  letter,  or  of  what  was  written  in  it.  If  we 
are  ever  to  make  that  discovery — probably  the  most  impor- 
tant discovery  of  all — we  must  dispatch  our  first  inquiries  a 
distance  of  three  thousand  miles.  In  plain  English,  my  dear 
lady,  we  must  send  to  America." 

This,  naturally  enough,  took  me  completely  by  surprise. 
I  waited  eagerly  to  hear  why  we  were  to  send  to  America. 

"It  rests  with  you,"  he  proceeded,"  when  you  hear  what 
I  have  to  tell,  yon,  to  say  whether  you  will  go  to  the  expense 
0  'J 


310  THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY. 

of  sending  a  man  to  New  York,  or  not.  I  can  find  the  right 
man  for  the  purpose ;  and  I  estimate  the  expense  (including 
a  telegram)—" 

"Never  mind  the  expense !"  I  interposed,  losing  all  patience 
with  the  eminently  Scotch  view  of  the  case  which  put  my 
purse  in  the  first  place  of  importance.  "  I  don't  care  ibr  the 
expense ;  I  want  to  know  what  you  have  discovered." 

He  smiled.  "She  doesn't  care  for  the  expense,"  he  said  to 
himself,  pleasantly.  "How  like  a  woman  !" 

I  might  have  retorted,  "He  thinks  of  the  expense  before 
he  thinks  of  any  thing  else.  How  like  a  Scotchman !"  As  it 
was,  I  was  too  anxious  to  be  witty.  I  only  drummed  im- 
patiently with  my  fingers  on  the  table,  and  said,  "Tell  me! 
tell  me !" 

He  took  out  the  fair  copy  from  Benjamin's  note-book  which 
I  had  sent  to  him,  and  showed  me  these  among  Dexter's  clos- 
ing words :  "What  about  the  letter?  Burn  it  now.  No  fire 
in  the  grate.  No  matches  in  the  box.  House  topsy-turvy. 
Servants  all  gone." 

"Do  you  really  understand  what  those  words  mean?"  I 
asked. 

"I  look  back  into  my  own  experience,"  he  answered,  "  and 
I  understand  perfectly  what  the  words  mean." 

"And  can  you  make  me  understand  them  too?" 

"Easily.  In  those  incomprehensible  sentences  Dexter's 
memory  has  correctly  recalled  certain  facts.  I  have  only  to 
tell  you  the  facts,  and  you  will  be  as  wise  as  I  am.  At  the 
time  of  the  Trial,  your  husband  surprised  and  distressed  me 
by  insisting  on  the  instant  dismissal  of  all  the  household 
servants  at  Gleninch.  I  was  instructed  to  pay  them  a  quar- 
ter's wages  in  advance,  to  give  them  the  excellent  written 
characters  which  their  good  conduct  thoroughly  deserved, 
and  to  see  the  house  clear  of  them,  at  an  hour's  notice.  Eus- 
tace's motive  for  this  summary  proceeding  was  much  the 
same  motive  which  animated  his  conduct  toward  you.  'If 
I  am  ever  to  return  to  Gleninch,'  he  said,  'I  can  not  face  my 
honest  servants  after  the  infamy  of  having  stood  my  trial 
for  murder.'  There  was  his  reason.  Nothing  that  I  could 
say  to  him,  poor  fellow,  shook  his  resolution.  I  dismissed 
the  servants  accordingly.  At  an  hour's  notice,  they  quitted 
the  house,  leaving  their  work  for  the  day  all  undone.  The 
only  persons  placed  in  charge  of  Gleninch  were  persons  who 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  311 

lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  park — that  is  to  say,  the  lodge- 
kccpcv  and  his  wife  and  daughter.  Ou  the  last  day  "of  the 
Trial  I  instructed  the  daughter  to  do  her  best  to  make  the 
rooms  tidy.  She  was  a  good  girl  enough,  but  she  had  no 
experience  as  a  housemaid :  it  would  never  enter  her  head 
to  lay  the  bedroom  fires  ready  for  lighting,  or  to  replenish 
the  empty  match-boxes.  Those  chance  words  that  dropped 
from  Dexter  would,  no  doubt,  exactly  describe  the  state  of 
his  room  when  he  returned  to  Gleninch,  with  the  prisoner 
and  his  mother,  from  Edinburgh.  That  he  tore  up  the  mys- 
terious letter  in  his  bedroom,  and  (finding  no  means  immedi- 
ately at  hand  for  burning  it)  that  he  threw  the  fragments  into 
the  empty  grate,  or  into  the  waste-paper  basket,  seems-to  be 
the  most  reasonable  conclusion  that  we  can  draw  from  what 
we  know.  In  any  case,  he  would  not  have  much  time  to 
think  about  it.  Every  thing  was  done  in  a  hurry  on  that 
day.  Eustace  and  his  mother,  accompanied  by  Dexter,  left 
for  England  the  same  evening  by  the  night  train.  I  myself 
locked  up  the  house,  and  gave  the  keys  to  the  lodge-keeper. 
It  was  understood  that  he  was  to  look  after  the  preservation 
of  the  reception-rooms  on  the  ground-floor;  and  that  his  wife 
and  daughter  were  to  perform  the  same  service  between 
them  in  the  rooms  up -stairs.  On  receiving  your  letter,  I 
drove  at  once  to  Gleninch  to  question  the  old  woman  on  the 
subject  of  the  bedrooms,  and  of  Dexter's  room  especially. 
She  remembered  the  time  when  the  house  was  shut  up  by 
associating  it  with  the  time  when  she  was  confined  to  her 
bed  by  an  attack  of  sciatica.  She  had  not  crossed  the  lodge 
door,  she  was  sure,  for  at  least  a  week  (if  not'  longer)  after 
Gleninch  had  been  left  in  charge  of  her  husband  and  herself. 
Whatever  was  done  in  the  way  of  keeping  the  bedrooms 
aired  and  tidy  during  her  illness  was  done  by  her  daughter. 
She,  and  she  only,  must  have  disposed  of  any  letter  which 
might  have  been  lying  about  in  Dexter's  room.  Not  a  ves- 
tige of  torn  paper,  as  I  can  myself  certify,  is  to  be  discovered 
in  any  part  of  the  room  now.  Where  did  the  girl  find  the 
fragments  of  the  letter?  and  what  did  she  do  with  them? 
Those  arc  the  questions  (if  you  approve  of  it)  which  we  must 
send  three  thousand  miles  away  to  ask — for  this  sufficient 
reason,  that  the  lodge-keeper's  daughter  was  married  more 
than  a  year  since,  and  that  she  is  settled  with  her  husband  in 
business  at  New  York.  It  rests  with  you  to  decide  what  is 


312  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

to  be  done.  Don't  let  me  mislead  you  with  false  hopes ! 
Don't  let  me  tempt  you  to  throw  away  your  money !  Even 
if  this  woman  does  remember  what  she  did  with  the  torn 
paper,  the  chances,  at  this  distance  of  time,  are  enormously 
against  our  ever  recovering  a  single  morsel  of  it.  Be  in  no 
haste  to  decide.  I  have  my  work  to  do  in  the  city — I  can 
give  you  the  whole  day  to  think  it  over." 

"Send  the  man  to  New  York  by  the  next  steamer,"!  said. 
"  There  is  my  decision,  Mr.  Playmore,  without  keeping  you 
waiting  for  it !" 

He  shook  his  head,  in  grave  disapproval  of  my  impetuosity. 
In  my  former  interview  with  him  we  had  never  once  touched 
on  tire  question  of  money.  I  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  to 
make  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Playmore  on  the  purely  Scotch 
side  of  his  character. 

"Why,  you  don't  even  know  what  it  will  cost  you!"  he 
exclaimed,  taking  out  his  pocket-book  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  was  equally  startled  and  scandalized.  "Wait  till  I  tot 
it  up,"  he  said, "  in  English  and  American  money." 

"I  can't  wait!     I  want  to  make  more  discoveries!" 

He  took  no  notice  of  my  interruption ;  he  went  on  impene- 
trably with  his  calculations. 

"The  man  will  go  second-class,  and  will  take  a  return- 
ticket.  Very  well.  His  ticket  includes  his  food ;  and  (be- 
ing, thank  God,  a  teetotaler)  he  won't  waste  your  money  in 
buying  liquor  on  board.  Arrived  at  New  York,  he  will  go 
to  a  cheap  German  house,  where  he  will,  as  I  am  credibly  in- 
formed, be  boarded  and  lodged  at  the  rate —  " 

By  this  time  (my  patience  being  completely  worn  out)  I 
had  taken  my  check-book  from  the  table-drawer,  had  signed 
my  name,  and  had  handed  the  blank  check  across  the  table 
to  my  legal  adviser. 

"Fill  it  in  with  whatever  the  man  wants,"  I  said.  "And 
for  Heaven's  sake  let  us  get  back  to  Dexter !" 

Mr.  Playmore  fell  back  in  his  chair,  and  lifted  his  hands  and 
eyes  to  the  ceiling.  I  was  not  in  the  least  impressed  by  that 
solemn  appeal  to  the  unseen  powers  of  arithmetic  and  money. 
I  insisted  positively  on  being  fed  with  more  information. 

"Listen  to  this,"  I  went  on,  reading  from  Benjamin's  notes. 
"What  did  Dexter  mean  when  he  said, '  Number  Nine,  Cal- 
dershaws.  Ask  for  Dandie.  You  sha'n't  have  the  Diary.  A 
secret  in  your  ear.  The  Diary  will  hang  him  ?'  How  came 


THE    LAW   -AND    THE    LAKY.  313 

Dexter  to  know  Avhat  vas  in  my  husband's  Diary?  And 
what  does  he  mean  by  '  Number  Nine,  Caldcrshaws,'  and  the 
rest  of  it  ?  Facts  again  ?" 

"Facts  again  !"  Mr.  Play  more  answered,  "  muddled  up  to- 
gether, as  you  may  say — but  positive  facts  for  all  that. 
Caldershaws,  you  must  know,  is  one  of  the  most  disreputa- 
ble districts  in  Edinburgh.  One  of  my  clerks  (whom  I  am 
in  the  habit  of  employing  confidentially)  volunteered  to  in- 
quire for  '  Dandie '  at  '  Number  Nine.'  It  was  a  ticklish  busi- 
ness in  every  way ;  and  my  man  wisely  took  a  person  with 
him  who  was  known  in  the  neighborhood.  'Number  Nine' 
turned  out  to  be  (ostensibly)  a  shop  for  the  sale  of  rags  and 
old  iron ;  and  '  Dandie '  was  suspected  of  trading  now  and 
then,  additionally,  as  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods.  Thanks  to 
the  influence  of  his  companion,  backed  by  a  bank-note  (which 
can  be  repaid,  by  the  way,  out  of  the  fund  for  the  American 
expenses),  my  clerk  succeeded  in  making  the  fellow  speak. 
Not  to  trouble  you  with  needless  details,  the  result  in  sub- 
stance was  this :  A  fortnight  or  more  before  the  date  of 
Mrs.  Eustace's  death,  'Dandie'  made  two  keys  from  wax 
models  supplied  to  him  by  a  new  customer.  The  mystery 
observed  in  the  matter  by  the  agent  who  managed  it  ex- 
cited Dandie's  distrust.  He  had  the  man  privately  watched 
before  he  delivered  the  keys ;  and  he  ended  in  discovering 
that  his  customer  Avas — Miserrimus  Dexter.  "Wait  a  little  ! 
I  have  not  done  yet.  Add  to  this  information  Dexter's  in- 
comprehensible knowledge  of  the  contents  of  your  husband's 
Diary,  and  the  product  is — that  the  wax  models  sent  to  the 
old-iron  shop  in  Caldershaws  were  models  taken  by  theft 
from  the  key  of  the  Diary  and  the  key  of  the  table-drawer 
in  which  it  was  kept.  I  have  my  own  idea  of  the  revelations 
that  are  still  to  come  if  this  matter  is  properly  followed  up. 
Never  mind  going  into  that  at  present.  Dexter  (I  tell  you 
again)  is  answerable  for  the  late  Mrs.  Eustace's  death.  IIolo 
he  is  answerable  I  believe  you  are  in  a  fair  way  of  finding 
out.  And,  more  than  that,  I  say  now,  what  I  could  not  vent- 
tire  to  say  before — it  is  a  duty  toward  Justice,  as  well  as  a 
duty  toward  your  husband,  to  bring  the  truth  to  light.  As 
for  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered,  I  don't  think  they  need 
daunt  you.  The  greatest  difficulties  give  way  in  the  end, 
when  they  are  attacked  by  the  united  alliance  of  patiem-c, 
resolution — and  economy." 


314  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

With  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  last  words,  my  worthy  ad- 
viser, mindful  of  the  flight  of  time  and  the  claims  of  busi- 
ness, rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  One  word  more,"  I  said,  as  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  Can 
you  manage  to  see  Miserrimus  Dexter  before  you  go  back  to 
Edinburgh  ?  From  what  the  gardener  told  me,  his  brother 
must  be  with  him  by  this  time.  It  would  be  a  relief  to  me 
to  hear  the  latest  news  of  him,  and  to  hear  it  from  you." 

"  It  is  part  of  my  business  in  London  to  see  him,"  said  Mr. 
Playmore.  "  But  mind !  I  have  no  hope  of  his  recovery ; 
I  only  wish  to  satisfy  myself  that  his  brother  is  able  and 
willing  to  take  care  of  him.  So  far  as  ice  are  concerned, 
Mrs.  Eustace,  that  unhappy  man  has  said  his  last  words." 

He  opened  the  door — stopped— considered  —  and  came 
back  to  me. 

"  With  regard  to  that  matter  of  sending  the  agent  to  Amer- 
ica," he  resumed — "  I  propose  to  have  the  honor  of  submit- 
ting to  you  a  brief  abstract — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Playmore!" 

"A  brief  abstract  in  writing,  Mrs.  Eustace,  of  the  esti- 
mated expenses  of  the  whole  pi'oceeding.  You  will  be  good 
enough  maturely  to  consider  the  same,  making  any  remarks 
on  it,  tending  to  economy,  which  may  suggest  themselves  to 
your  mind  at  the  time.  And  you  will  further  oblige  me,  if 
you  approve  of  the  abstract,  by  yourself  filling  in  the  blank" 
space  011  your  check  with  the  needful  amount  in  words  and 
figures.  No,  madam !  I  really  can  not  justify  it  to  my  con- 
science to  carry  about  my  person  any  such  loose  and  reckless 
document  as  a  blank  check.  There's  a  total  disregard  of 
the  first  claims  of  prudence  and  economy  implied  in  this 
small  slip  of  paper  which  is  nothing  less  than  a  flat  contra- 
diction of  the  principles  that  have  governed  my  whole  life. 
I  can't  submit  to  flat  contradiction.  Good -morning,  Mrs. 
Eustace — good-morning." 

He  laid  my  check  on  the  table  with  a  low  bow,  and  left 
me.  Among  the  curious  developments  of  human  stupidity 
which  occasionally  present  themselves  to  view,  surely  the 
least  excusable  is  the  stupidity  which,  to  this  day,  persists 
in  wondering  why  the  Scotch  succeed  so  well  in  life  ! 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  315 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

MOKE     SURPRISES. 

THE  same  evening  I  received  my  "  abstract"  by  the  hands 
of  a  clerk. 

It  was  an  intensely  characteristic  document.  My  ex- 
penses were  remorselessly  calculated  downward  to  shillings 
and  even  to  pence;  and  our  unfortunate  messenger's  instruc- 
tions in  respect  to  his  expenditure  were  reduced  to  a  nicety 
which  must  have  made  his  life  in  America  nothing  less  than 
a  burden  to  him.  In  mercy  to  the  man,  I  took  the  liberty, 
when  I  wrote  back  to  Mr.  Play  more,  of  slightly  increasing 
the  indicated  amount  of  the  figures  which  were  to  appear  on 
the  check.  I  ought  to  have  better  known  the  correspond- 
ent whom  I  had  to  deal  with.  Mr.  Playmore's  reply  (inform- 
ing me  that  our  emissary  had  started  on  his  voyage)  re- 
turned a  receipt  in  due  form,  and  the  whole  of  the  surplus 
money,  to  the  last  farthing  ! 

A  few  hurried  lines  accompanied  the  "  abstract,"  and 
stated  the  result  of  the  lawyer's  visit  to  Miserrimus  Dexter. 

There  was  no  change  for  the  better — there  was  no  change 
at  all.  Mr.  Dexter,  the  brother,  had  arrived  at  the  house  ac- 
companied by  a  medical  man  accustomed  to  the  charge  of 
the  insane.  The  new  doctor  declined  to  give  any  definite 
opinion  on  the  case  until  he  had  studied  it  carefully  with 
plenty  of  time  at  his  disposal.  It  had  been  accordingly  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  remove  Miserrimus  Dexter  to  the  asy- 
lum of  which  he  was  the  proprietor  as  soon  as  the  prepara- 
tions for  receiving  the  patient  could  be  completed.  The  one 
difficulty  that  still  remained  to  be  met  related  to  the  dis- 
posal of  the  faithful  creature  who  had  never  left  her  master, 
night  or  day,  since  the  catastrophe  had  happened.  Ariel 
had  no  friends  and  no  money.  The  proprietor  of  the  asylum 
could  not  be  expected  to  receive  her  without  the  customary 
payment ;  and  Mr.  Dexter' s  brother  "  regretted  to  say  that 
he  was  not  rich  enough  to  find  the  money."  A  forcible  sep- 
aration from  the  one  human  being  whom  she  loved,  and  a  re- 
moval in  the  character  of  a  pauper  to  a  public  asylum — such 


316  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

was  the  prospect  which  awaited  the  unfortunate  creature 
unless  some  one  interfered  in  her  favor  before  the  end  of  the 
week. 

Under  these  sad  circumstances,  good  Mr.  Playmore — pass- 
ing over  the  claims  of  economy  in  favor  of  the  claims  of  hu- 
manity—  suggested  that  we  should  privately  start  a  sub- 
scription, and  offered  to  head  the  list  liberally  himself. 

I  must  have  written  all  these  pages  to  very  little  pur- 
pose if  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  add  that  I  instantly  sent  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Dexter,  the  brother,  undertaking  to  be  answer- 
able for  whatever  money  was  to  be  required  while  the  sub- 
scriptions were  being  collected,  and  only  stipulating  that 
when  Miserrimus  Dexter  was  removed  to  the  asylum,  Ariel 
should  accompany  him.  This  was  readily  conceded.  But 
serious  objections  were  raised  when  I  further  requested  that 
she  might  be  permitted  to  attend  on  her  master  in  the  asy- 
lum as  she  had  attended  on  him  in  the  house.  The  rules  of 
the  establishment  forbade  it,  and  the  universal  practice  in 
such  cases  forbade  it,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  However,  by 
dint  of  perseverance  and  persuasion,  I  so  far  carried  my  point 
as  to  gain  a  reasonable  concession.  During  certain  hours  in 
the  day,  and  under  certain  wise  restrictions,  Ariel  was  to  be 
allowed  the  privilege  of  waiting  on  the  Master  in  his  room, 
as  well  as  of  accompanying  him  when  he  was  brought  out 
in  his  chair  to  take  the  air  in  the  garden.  For  the  honor 
of  humanity,  let  me  add  that  the  liability  which  I  had  un- 
dertaken made  no  very  serious  demands  on  my  resources. 
Placed  in  Benjamin's  charge,  our  subscription-list  prospered. 
Friends,  and  even  strangers  sometimes,  opened  their  hearts 
and  their  purses  when  they  heard  Ariel's  melancholy  story. 

The  day  which  followed  the  day  of  Mr.  Playmore's  visit 
brought  me  news  from  Spain,  in  a  letter  from  my  mother-in- 
law.  To  describe  what  I  felt  when  I  broke  the  seal  and 
read  the  first  lines  is  simply  impossible.  Let  Mrs.  Macallan 
be  heard  on  this  occasion  in  my  place. 

Thus  she  wrote : 

"  Prepare  yourself,  my  dearest  Valeria,  for  a  delightful 
surprise.  Eustace  has  justified  my  confidence  in  him.  When 
he'  returns  to  England,  he  returns  —  if  you  will  let  him  —  to 
his  wife. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  317 

"This  resolution,  let  me  hasten  to  assure  you,  has  not 
been  brought  about  by  any  persuasions  of  mine.  It  is  the 
natural  outgrowth  of  your  husband's  gratitude  and  your 
husband's  love.  The  first  words  he  said  to  me,  when  he  was 
able  to  speak,  were  these  :  '  If  I  live  to  return  to  England, 
and  if  I  go  to  Valeria,  do  you  think  she  will  forgive  me?' 
AVe  can  only  leave  it  to  you,  my  dear,  to  give  the  answer. 
If  you  love  us,  answer  us  by  return  of  post. 

"  Having  now  told  you  what  he  said  when  I  first  informed 
him  that  you  had  been  his  nurse — and  remember,  if  it  seem 
very  little,  that  he  is  still  too  weak  to  speak  except  with 
difficulty — I  shall  purposely  keep  my  letter  back  for  a  few 
days.  My  object  is  to  give  him  time  to  think,  and  to  frank- 
ly tell  you  of  it  if  the  interval  produce  any  change  in  his 
resolution. 

"Three  days  have  passed,  and  there  is  no  change.  He  has 
but  one  feeling  now — he  longs  for  the  day  which  is  to  unite 
him  again  to  his  wife. 

"But  there  is  something  else  connected  with  Eustace  that 
you  ought  to  know,  and  that  I  ought  to  tell  you. 

"Greatly  as  time  and  suffering  have  altered  him  in  many 
respects,  there  is  no  change,  Valeria,  in  the  aversion  —  the 
horror  I  may  even  say — with  which  he  views  your  idea  of 
inquiring  anew  into  the  circumstances  which  attended  the 
lamentable  death  of  his  first  wife.  It  makes  no  difference 
to  him  that  you  are  only  animated  by  a  desire  to  serve 
his  interests.  *  Has  she  given  up  that  idea?  Are  you  posi- 
tively sure  she  has  given  up  that  idea  ?'  Over  and  over 
again  he  has  put  these  questions  to  me.  I  have  answered — 
what  else  could  I  do  in  the  miserably  feeble  state  in  which 
lie  still  lies?  —  I  have  answered  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
soothe  and  satisfy  him.  I  have  said,  'Relieve  your  mind  of 
all  anxiety  on  that  subject :  Valeria  has  no  choice  but  to 
give  up  the  idea ;  the  obstacles  in  her  way  have  proved  to 
be  insurmountable — the  obstacles  have  conquered  her.'  This, 
if  you  remember,  was  what  I  really  believed  would  happen 
when  you  and  I  spoke  of  that  painful  topic  ;  and  I  have 
heard  nothing  from  you  since  which  has  tended  to  shake  my 
opinion  in  the  smallest  degree.  If  I  am  right  (as  I  pray  God 
I  may  be)  in  the  view  that  I  take,  you  have  only  to  confirm 
me  in  your  reply,  and  all  will  be  well.  In  the  other  event — 
that  is  to  say,  if  you  are  still  determined  to  persevere  in 


318  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

.your  hopeless  project — then  make  up  your  mind  to  face  the 
result.  Set  Eustace's  prejudices  at  defiance  in  this  particu- 
lar, and  you  lose  your  hold  on  his  gratitude,  his  penitence, 
and  his  love — you  will,  in  my  belief,  never  see  him  again. 

"  I  express  myself  strongly,  in  your  own  interests,  my  dear, 
and  for  your  own  sake.  When  you  reply,  write  a  few  lines 
to  Eustace,  inclosed  in  your  letter  to  me. 

"As  for  the  date  of  our  departure,  it  is  still  impossible  for 
me  to  give  you  any  definite  information.  Eustace  recovers 
very  slowly;  the  doctor  has  not  yet  allowed  him  to  leave  his 
bed ;  and  when  we  do  travel  we  must  journey  by  easy 
stages.  It  will  be  at  least  six  weeks,  at  the  earliest,  before 
we  can  hope  to  be  back  again  in  dear  Old  England. 
"  Affectionately  yours, 

"  CATHERINE  MACALLAN." 

I  laid  down  the  letter,  and  did  my  best  (vainly  enough  for 
some  time)  to  compose  my  spirits.  To  understand  the  posi- 
tion in  which  I  now  found  myself,  it  is  only  necessary  to  re- 
member one  circumstance :  the  messenger  to  whom  we  had 
committed  our  inquiries  was  at  that  moment  crossing  the 
Atlantic  on  his  way  to  New  York. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? 

I  hesitated.  Shocking  as  it  may  seem  to  some  people,  I 
hesitated.  There  was  really  no  need  to  hurry  my  decision. 
I  had  the  whole  day  before  me. 

I  went  out  and  took  a  wretched,  lonely  walk,  and  turned 
the  matter  over  in  my  mind.  I  came  home  again,  and  turned 
the  matter  over  once  more  by  the  fireside.  To  offend  and 
repel  my  darling  when  ho  was  returning  to  me,  penitently 
returning  of  his  own  free  will,  was  what  no  woman  in  my 
position,  and  feeling  as  I  did,  could  under  any  earthly  cir- 
cumstances have  brought  herself  to  do.  And  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  how  in  Heaven's  name  could  I  give  up  my  grand 
enterprise  at  the  very  time  when  even  wise  and  prudent  Mr. 
Playmore  saw  such  a  prospect  of  succeeding  in  it  that  he  had 
actually  volunteered  to  help  me  ?  Placed  between  those  two 
cruel  alternatives,  which  could  I  choose  ?  Think  of  your 
own  frailties,  and  have  some  mercy  on  mine.  I  turned  my 
back  on  both  the  alternatives.  Those  two  agreeable  fiends, 
Prevarication  and  Deceit,  took  me,  as  it  were,  softly  by  the 
hand :  "  Don't  commit  yourself  either  way,  my  dear,"  they 


THE    LAW    AXD    THE    LADY.  319 

saul,  in  their  most  persuasive  manner.  "  Write  just  enough 
to  compose  your  mother-in-law  and  to  satisfy  your  husband. 
You  liave  got  time  before  you.  Wait  and  see  if  Time  doesn't 
stand  your  friend,  and  get  you  out  of  the  difficulty." 

Infamous  advice  !  And  yet  I  took  it — I,  who  had  been 
well  brought  up,  and  who  ought  to  have  known  better.  You 
who  read  this  shameful  confession  would  have  known  better, 
I  am  sure.  You  are  not  included,  in  the  Prayer-book  cate- 
gory, among  the  "  miserable  sinners." 

Well !  well !  let  me  have  virtue  enough  to  tell  the  truth. 
In  writing  to  my  mother-in-law,  I  informed  her  that  it  had 
been  found  necessary  to  remove  Miserrimus  Dexter  to  an 
asylum — and  I  left  her  to  draw  her  own  conclusions  from 
that  fact,  unenlightened  by  so  much  as  one  word  of  addition- 
al information.  In  the  same  way,  I  told  my  husband  a  part 
of  the  truth,  and  no  more.  I  said  I  forgave  him  with  all  my 
heart — and  I  did  !  I  said  he  had  only  to  come  to  me,  and  I 
would  receive  him  with  open  arms — and  so  I  would !  As 
for  the  rest,  let  me  say  with  Hamlet—"  The  rest  is  silence." 

Having  dispatched  my  unworthy  letters,  I  found  myself 
growing  restless,  and  feeling  the  want  of  a  change.  It  would 
be  necessary  to  wait  at  least  eight  or  nine  days  before  we 
could  hope  to  hear  by  telegraph  from  New  York.  I  bade 
farewell  for  a  time  to  my  dear  and  admirable  Benjamin,  and 
betook  myself  to  my  old  home  in  the  North,  at  the  vicarage 
of  my  uncle  Starkweather.  My  journey  to  Spain  to  nurse 
Eustace  had  made  my  peace  with  my  worthy  relatives ;  we 
had  exchanged  friendly  letters  ;  and  I  had  promised  to  be 
their  guest  as  soon  as  it  was  possible  for  me  to  leave  London. 

I  passed  a  quiet  and  (all  things  considered)  a  happy  time 
among  the  old  scenes.  I  visited  once  more  the  bank  by  the 
river-side,  where  Eustace  and  I  had  first  met.  I  walked 
again  on  the  lawn  and  loitered  through  the  shrubbery — those 
favorite  haunts  in  which  we  had  so  often  talked  over  our 
troubles,  and  so  often  forgotten  them  in  a  kiss.  How  sadly 
and  strangely  had  our  lives  been  parted  since  that  time ! 
How  uncertain  still  was  the  fortune  which  the  future  had  in 
store  for  us ! 

The  associations  amid  which  I  was  now  living  had  their 
softening  effect  on  my  heart,  their  elevating  influence  over 
my  mind.  I  reproached  myself,  bitterly  reproached  myself, 
for  not  having  written  more  fully  and  frankly  to  Eustace. 


320  THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

Why  had  I  hesitated  to  sacrifice  to  him  my  hopes  and  my 
interests  in  the  coming  investigation  ?  He  had  not  hesitated, 
poor  fellow — his  first  thought  was  the  thought  of  his  wife  ! 

I  had  passed  a  fortnight  with  my  uncle  and  aunt  before  I 
heard  again  from  Mr.  Playmore.  When  a  letter  from  him 
arrived  at  last,  it  disappointed  me  indescribably.  A  tele- 
gram from  our  messenger  informed  us  that  the  lodge-keeper's 
daughter  and  her  husband  had  left  New  York,  and  that  ho 
was  still  in  search  of  a  trace  of  them. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  wait  as  patiently  as 
we  could,  on  the  chance  of  hearing  better  news.  I  remained 
in  the  North,  by  Mr.  Playmore's  advice,  so  as  to  be  within 
an  easy  journey  to  Edinburgh — in  case  it  might  be  necessary 
for  me  to  consult  him  personally.  Three  more  weeks  of 
weary  expectation  passed  before  a  second  letter  reached  me. 
This  time  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  the  news  were 
good  or  bad.  It  might  have  been  either — it  was  simply  be- 
wildering. Even  Mr.  Playmore  himself  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise. These  were  the  last  wonderful  words — limited  of 
course  by  considerations  of  economy — which  reached  us  (by 
telegram)  from  our  agent  in  America : 

"  Open  the  dust-heap  at  Gleuinch." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AT  LAST! 

MY  letter  from  Mr.  Playmore,  inclosing  the  agent's  extraor- 
dinary telegram,  was  not  inspired  by  the  sanguine  view  of 
our  prospects  which  he  had  expressed  to  me  when  we  met  at 
Benjamin's  house. 

"  If  the  telegram  mean  any  thing,"  he  wrote, "  it  means 
that  the  fragments  of  the  torn  letter  have  been  cast  into  the 
housemaid's  bucket  (along  with  the  dust,  the  ashes,  and  the 
rest  of  the  litter  in  the  room),  and  have  been  emptied  on  the 
dust-heap  at  Gleninch.  Since  this  was  done,  the  accumulated 
refuse  collected  from  the  periodical  cleansings  of  the  house, 
during  a  term  of  neai'ly 'three  years — including,  of  course, 
the  ashes  from  the  fires  kept  burning,  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  year,  in  the  library  and  the  picture-gallery — have  been 
poured  upon  the  heap,  and  have  buried  the  precious  morsels 


THE    LAW    AND   TIIE    LADY.  321 

of  paper  deeper  and  deeper,  day  by  day.  Even  if  we  have  a 
fair  chance  of  finding  these  fragments,  what  hope  can  we 
feel,  at  this  distance  of  time,  of  recovering  them  with  the 
writing  iu  a  state  of  preservation?  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear, 
by  return  of  post  if  possible,  how  the  matter  strikes  you. 
If  you  could  make  it  convenient  to  consult  with  me  person- 
ally in  Edinburgh,  we  should  save  time,  when  time  may  be 
of  serious  importance  to  us.  While  you  are  at  Doctor  Stark- 
weather's you  are  within  easy  reach  of  this  place.  Please 
think  of  it." 

I  thought  of  it  seriously  enough.  The  foremost  question 
which  I  had  to  consider  was  the  question  of  my  husband. 

The  departure  of  the  mother  and  son  from  Spain  had  been 
so  long  delayed,  by  the  surgeon's  orders,  that  the  travelers 
had  only  advanced  on  their  homeward  journey  as  far  as  Bor- 
deaux, when  I  had  last  heard  from,  Mrs.  Macallan  three  or 
four  days  since.  Allowing  for  an  interval  of  repose  at  Bor- 
deaux, and  for  the  slow  rate  at  which  they  would  be  com- 
pelled to  move  afterward,  I  might  still  expect  them  to  arrive 
in  England  some  time  before  a  letter  from  the  agent  in  Amer- 
ica could  reach  Mr.  Play  more.  How,  in  this  position  of  affairs, 
I  could  contrive  to  join  the  lawyer  in  Edinburgh,  after  meet- 
ing my  husband  in  London,  it  was  not  easy  to  see.  The  wise 
and  the  right  way,  as  I  thought,  was  to  tell  Mr.  Playmora 
frankly  that  I  was  not  mistress  of  my  own  movements,  and 
that  he  had  better  address  his  next  letter  to  me  at  Benjamin's 
house. 

Writing  to  my  legal  adviser  in  this  sense,  I  had  a  word 
of  my  own  to  add  on  the  subject  of  the  torn  letter. 

In  the  last  years  of  my  father's  life  I  had  traveled  with 
him  in  Italy,  and  I  had  seen  in  the  .Muse'urn  at  Xaples  the 
wonderful  relics  of  a  by-gone  time  discovered  among  the  ruins 
of  Pompeii.  By  way  of  encouraging  Mr.  Playmore,  I  now 
reminded  him  that  the  eruption  which  had  overwhelmed  the 
town  had  preserved,  for  more  than  sixteen  hundred  years, 
such  perishable  things  as  the  straw  in  which  pottery  had 
been  packed  ;  the  paintings  on  house  walls ;  the  dresses 
worn  by  the  inhabitants ;  and  (most  noticeable  of  all,  in  our 
case)  a  piece  of  ancient  paper,  still  attached  to  the  volcanic 
ashes  which  had  fallen  over  it.  If  these  discoveries  had 
been  made  after  a  lapse  of  sixteen  centuries,  under  a  layer 
of  dust  and  ashes  on  a  large  scale,  surely  we  might  hope  to 


322  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

meet  with  similar  cases  of  preservation,  after  a  lapse  of  three 
or  four  years  only,  under  a  layer  of  dust  and  ashes  on  a  small 
scale.  Taking  for  granted  (what  was  perhaps  doubtful 
enough)  that  the  fragments  of  the  letter  could  be  recovered, 
ray  own  conviction  was  that  the  writing  on  them,  though  it 
mio-ht  be  faded,  would  certainly  still  be  legible.  The  very 
accumulations  which  Mr.  Playraore  deplored  would  be  the 
means  of  preserving  them  from  the  rain  and  the  damp.  With 
these  modest  hints  I  closed  ray  letter;  and  thus  for  once, 
thanks  to  my  Continental  experience,  I  was  able  to  instruct 
my  lawyer ! 

Another  day  passed ;  and  I  heard  nothing  of  the  travelers. 

I  began  to  feel  anxious.  I  made  my  preparations  for  ray 
journey  southward  overnight ;  and  I  resolved  to  start  for 
London  the  next  day— unless  I  heard  of  some  change  in  Mrs. 
Macallan's  traveling  arrangements  in  the  interval. 

The  post  of  the  next  morning  decided  my  course  of  action. 
It  brought  me  a  letter  from  my  mother-in-law,  which  added 
one  more  to  the  memorable  dates  in  my  domestic  calendar. 

Eustace  and  his  mother  had  advanced  as  far  as  Paris  on 
their  homeward  journey,  when  a  cruel  disaster  had  befallen 
them.  The  fatigues  of  traveling,  and  the  excitement  of  his 
anticipated  meeting  with  me,  had  proved  together  to  be  too 
much  for  my  husband.  He  had  held  out  as  far  as  Paris  with 
the  greatest  difficulty ;  and  he  was  now  confined  to  his  bed 
again,  struck  down  by  a  relapse.  The  doctors,  this  time,  had 
no  fear  for  his  life,  provided  that  his  patience  would  support 
him  through  a  lengthened  period  of  the  most  absolute  repose. 

"  It  now  rests  with  you,  Valeria,"  Mrs.  Macallan  wrote, "  to 
fortify  and  comfort  Eustace  under  this  new  calamity.  Do 
not  suppose  that  .he  has  ever  blamed  or  thought  of  blaming 
you  for  leaving  him  with  me  in  Spain,  as  soon  as  he  was  de- 
clared to  be  out  of  danger.  '  It  was  I  who  left  fier?  he  said 
to  me,  when  we  first  talked  about  it ;  '  and  it  is  my  wife's 
right  to  expect  that  I  should  go  back  to  her.'  Those  were 
his  words,  my  dear ;  and  he  has  done  all  he  can  to  abide  by 
them.  Helpless  in  his  bed,  he  now  asks  you  to  take  the  will 
for  the  deed,  and  to  join  him  in  Paris.  I  think  I  know  you 
well  enough,  my  child,  to  be  sure  that  you  will  do  this ;  and 
I  need  only  add  one  word  of  caution,  before  I  close  my  let- 
ter. Avoid  all  reference,  not  only  to  the  Trial  (you  will  do 
that  of  your  own  accord),  but  even  to  our  house  at  Gleninch. 


TUE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  323 

You  will  understand  how  lie  feels,  iu  his  present  state  of 
nervous  depression,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  should  never  have 
ventured  on  asking  you  to  join  him  here,  if  your  letter  had 
not  informed  me  that  your  visits  to  Dexter  were  at  an  end. 
Would  you  believe  it  ? — his  horror  of  any  thing  which  recalls 
our  past  troubles  is  still  so  vivid  that  he  has  actually  asked 
me  to  give  my  consent  to  selling  Gleninch !" 

So  Eustace's  mother  wrote  of  him.  But  she  had  not  trust- 
ed entirely  to  her  own  powers  of  persuasion.  A  slip  of  paper 
was  inclosed  in  her  letter,  containing  these  two  lines,  traced 
in  pencil — oh,  so  feebly  and  so  wearily  ! — by  my  poor  darling 
himself: 

"  I  am  too  weak  to  travel  any  farther,  Valeria.  Will  you 
come  to  me  and  forgive  me  ?"  A  few  pencil-marks  followed  ; 
but  they  were  illegible.  The  writing  of  those  two  short  sen- 
tences had  exhausted  him. 

It  is  not  saying  much  for  myself,  I  know — but,  having  con- 
fessed it  when  I  was  wrong,  let  me  at  least  record  it  when  I 
did  what  was  right — I  decided  instantly  on  giving  up  all 
further  connection  with  the  recovery  of  the  torn  letter.  If 
Eustace  asked  me  the  question,  I  was  resolved  to  be  able  to 
answer  truly:  "I  have  made  the  sacrifice  that  assures  your 
tranquillity.  When  resignation  was  hardest,  I  have  humbled 
my  obstinate  spirit,  and  I  have  given  way  for  my  husband's 
sake." 

There  was  half  an  hour  to  spare  before  I  left  the  vicarage 
for  the  railway  station.  In  that  interval  I  wrote  again  to 
Mr.  Playmore,  telling  him  plainly  what  my  position  was, 
and  withdrawing,  at  once  and  forever,  from  all  share  in  in- 
vestigating the  mystery  which  lay  hidden  under  the  dust- 
heap  at  Gleninch. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

OUR    NEW    HONEYMOON. 


IT  is  not  to  be  disguised  or  denied  that  my  spirits  were 
depressed  on  my  journey  to  London. 

To  resign  the  one  cherished  purpose  of  my  life,  when  I  had 
suffered  so  much  in  pursuing  it,  and  when  I  had  (to  all  ap- 
pearance) so  nearly  reached  the  realization  of  my  hopes,  was 


324  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

putting  to  a  hard  trial  a  woman's  fortitude  and  a  woman's 
sense  of  duty.  Still,  even  if  the  opportunity  had  been  of- 
fered to  me,  I  would  not  have  recalled  my  letter  to  Mr.  Play- 
more.  "  It  is  done,  and  well  done,"  I  said  to  myself;  "  and 
I  have  only  to  wait  a  day  to  be  reconciled  to  it — when  I  give 
my  husband  my  first  kiss." 

I  had  planned  and  hoped  to  reach  London  in  time  to  start 
for  Paris  by  the  night-mail.  But  the  train  was  twice  de- 
layed on  the  long  journey  from  the  North ;  and  there  was 
no  help  for  it  but  to  sleep  at  Benjamin's  villa,  and  to  defer 
my  departure  until  the  morning. 

It  was,  of  course,  impossible  for  me  to  warn  my  old  friend 
of  the  change  in  my  plans.  My  arrival  took  him  by  sur- 
prise. I  found  him  alone  in  his  library,  with  a  wonderful  il- 
lumination of  lamps  and  candles,  absorbed  over  some  mor- 
sels of  torn  paper  scattered  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  about  ?"  I  asked. 

Benjamin  blushed — I  was  going  to  say,  like  a  young  girl ; 
but  young  girls  have  given  up  blushing  in  these  latter  days 
of  the  age  we  live  in. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing  !"  he  said,  confusedly.  "Don't  no- 
tice it." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  brush  the  morsels  of  paper 
off  the  table.  Those  morsels  raised  a  sudden  suspicion  in 
my  mind.  I  stopped  him. 

"  You  have  heard  from  Mr.  Play  more  !"  I  said.  "  Tell  me 
the  truth,  Benjamin.  Yes  or  No?" 

Benjamin  blushed  a  shade  deeper,  and  answered  "  Yes." 

"  Where  is  the  letter  ?" 

"I  mustn't  show  it  to  you, Valeria." 

This  (need  I  say  it  ?)  made  me  determined  to  see  the  letter. 
My  best  wray  of  persuading  Benjamin  to  show  it  to  me  was 
to  tell  him  of  the  sacrifice  that  I  had  made  to  my  husband's 
wishes.  "  I  have  no  further  voice  in  the  matter,"  I  added, 
when  I  had  done.  "It  now  rests  entirely  with  Mr.  Play- 
more  to  go  on  or  to  give  up ;  and  this  is  my  last  opportunity 
of  discovering  what  he  really  thinks  about  it.  Don't  I  de- 
serve some  little  indulgence  ?  Have  I  no  claim  to  look  at 
the  letter  ?" 

Benjamin  was  too  much  surprised,  and  too  much  pleased 
with  me,  when  he  heard  what  had  happened,  to  be  able  to 
resist  my  entreaties.  He  gave  me  the  letter. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  325 

Mr.  Playmore  wrote  to  appeal  confidentially  to  Benjamin 
as  a  commercial  man.  In  the  long  course  of  his  occupation 
in  business,  it  was  just  possible  that  he  might  have  heard 
of  cases  in  which  documents  have  been  put  together  again 
after  having  been  torn  up  by  design  or  by  accident.  Even  if 
his  experience  failed  in  this  particular,  he  might  be  able  to 
refer  to  some  authority  in  London  who  would  be  capable  of 
giving  an  opinion  on  the  subject.  By  way  of  explaining  his 
strange  request,  Mr.  Playmore  reverted  to  the  notes  which 
Benjamin  had  taken  at  Miserrimus  Dexter's  house,  and  in- 
formed him  of  the  serious  importance  of  "the  gibberish" 
which  he  had  reported  under  protest.  The  letter  closed  by 
recommending  that  any  correspondence  which  ensued  should 
be  kept  a  secret  from  me — on  the  ground  that  it  might  excite 
false  hopes  in  my  mind  if  I  were  informed  of  it. 

I  now  understood  the  tone  which  my  worthy  adviser  had 
adopted  in  writing  to  me.  His  interest  in  the  recovery  of 
the  letter  was  evidently  so  overpowering  that  common  pru- 
dence compelled  him  to  conceal  it  from  me,  in  case  of  ulti- 
mate failure.  This  did  not  look  as  if  Mr.  Playmore  was  like- 
ly to  give  up  the  investigation  on  my  withdrawal  from  it. 
I  glanced  again  at  the  fragments  of  paper  on  Benjamin's 
table,  with  an  interest  in  them  which  I  had  not  felt  yet. 

"  Has  any  thing  been  found  at  Gleninch  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Benjamin.  "  I  have  only  been  trying  experi- 
ments with  a  letter  of  my  own,  before  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Play- 
more." 

"  Oh,  you  have  torn  up  the  letter  yourself,  then  ?" 

"  Yes.  And,  to  make  it  all  the  more  difficult  to  put  them 
together  again,  I  shook  up  the  pieces  in  a  basket.  It's  a 
childish  thing  to  do,  my  dear,  at  my  age — " 

He  stopped,  looking  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 

"Well,"  I  went  on ;  "and  have  you  succeeded  in  putting 
your  letter  together  again  ?" 

"It's  not  very  easy, Valeria.  But  I  have  made  a  begin- 
ning. It's  the  same  principle  as  the  principle  in  the  'Puz- 
zles '  which  we  used  to  put  together  Avhen  I  was  a  boy. 
Only  get  one  central  bit  of  it  right,  and  the  rest  of  the  Puz- 
zle falls  into  its  place  in  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time.  Please 
don't  tell  any  body,  my  dear.  People  might  say  I  was  in 
my  dotage.  To  think  of  that  gibberish  in  my  note  -  book 
having  a  meaning  in  it,  after  all !  I  only  got  Mr.  Playmore's 
P 


326  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

letter  this  morning;  and  —  I  am  really  almost  ashamed  to 
mention  it — I  have  been  trying  experiments  on  torn  letters, 
off  and  on,  ever  since.  You  wofl't  tell  upon  me,  will  you  ?" 

I  answered  the  dear  old  man  by  a  hearty  embrace.  Now 
that  he  had  lost  his  steady  moral  balance,  and  had  caught 
the  infection  of  my  enthusiasm,!  loved  him  better  than  ever. 

But  I  was  not  quite  happy,  though  I  tried  to  appear  so. 
Struggle  against  it  as  I  might,  I  felt  a  little  mortified  when 
I  remembered  that  I  had  resigned  all  further  connection  with 
the  search  for  the  letter  at  such  a  time  as  this.  My  one  com- 
fort was  to  think  of  Eustace.  My  one  encouragement  was 
to  keep  my  mind  fixed  as  constantly  as  possible  on  the  bright 
change  for  the  better  that  now  appeared  in  the  domestic  pros- 
pect. Here,  at  least,  there  was  no  disaster  to  fear ;  here  I 
could  honestly  feel  that  I  had  triumphed.  My  husband  had 
come  back  to  me  of  his  own  free  will ;  he  had  not  given  way, 
under  the  hard  weight  of  evidence — he  had  yielded  to  the  no- 
bler influences  of  his  gratitude  and  his  love.  And  I  had  taken 
him  to  my  heart  again — not  because  I  had  made  discoveries 
which  left  him  no  other  alternative  than  to  live  with  me,but 
because  I  believed  in  the  better  mind  that  had  come  to  him, 
and  loved  and  trusted  him  without  reserve.  Was  it  not 
worth  some  sacrifice  to  have  arrived  at  this  result !  True — 
most  true  !  And  yet  I  was  a  little  out  of  spirits.  Ah,  well ! 
well !  the  remedy  was  within  a  day's  journey.  The  sooner  I 
was  with  Eustace  the  better. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  left  London  for  Paris  by  the 
tidal-train.  Benjamin  accompanied  me  to  the  Terminus. 

"  I  shall  write  to  Edinburgh  by  to-day's  post,"  he  said,  in 
the  interval  before  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station.  "  I 
think  I  can  find  the  man  Mr.  Playmore  wants  to  help  him,  if 
he  decides  to  go  on.  Have  you  any  message  to  send,Valeria  ?" 

"  No.  I  have  done  with  it,  Benjamin ;  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say." 

"Shall  I  write  and  tell  you  how  it  ends, if  Mr.  Playmore 
does  really  try  the  experiment  at  Gleninch?" 

I  answered,  as  I  felt,  a  little  bitterly. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Write  and  tell  me  if  the  experiment 
fail." 

My  old  friend  smiled.  He  knew  me  better  than  I  knew 
myself. 


THE    LAW    AXI>    THE    LADY.  327 

"All  right!"  he  said, resignedly.  "I  have  got  the  address 
of  your  banker's  correspondent  in  Paris.  You  will  have  to 
go  there  for  money,  in y  dear;  and  you  may  find  a  letter 
waiting  for  you  in  the  office  when  you  least  expect  it.  Let 
me  hear  how  your  husband  goes  on.  Good-by — and  God 
bless  you  !" 

That  evening  I  was  restored  to  Eustace. 

He  was  too  weak,  poor  fellow,  even  to  raise  his  head  from 
the  pillow.  I  knelt  down  at  the  bedside  and  kissed  him. 
His  languid,  weary  eyes  kindled  with  a  new  life  as  my  lips 
touched  his.  "  I  must  try  to  live  now,"  he  whispered, "  for 
your  sake." 

.My  mother-in-law  had  delicately  left  us  together.  When 
he  said  those  words  the  temptation  to  tell  him  of  the  new 
hope  that  had  come  to  brighten  our  lives  was  more  than  I 
could  resist. 

"You  must  try  to  live  now,  Eustace,"  I  said,  "for  some 
one  else  besides  me." 

His  eyes  looked  wonderingly  into  mine. 

"  Do  you  mean  my  mother  ?"  he  asked. 

I  laid  my  head  on  his  bosom,  and  whispered  back — 

"  I  mean  your  child." 

I  had  all  my  reward  for  all  that  I  had  given  up.  I  forgot 
Mr.  Playmore ;  I  forgot  Gleninch.  Our  new  honeymoon  dates, 
in  my  remembrance,  from  that  day. 

The  quiet  time  passed,  in  the  by-street  in  which  we  lived. 
The  outer  stir  and  tumult  of  Parisian  life  raji  its  daily  course 
around  us,  unnoticed  and  unheard.  Steadily,  though  slow- 
ly, Eustace  gained  strength.  The  doctors,  with  a  word  or 
two  of  caution,  left  him  almost  entirely  to  me.  "  You  are 
his  physician,"  they  said  ;  "  the  happier  you  make  him,  the 
sooner  he  will  recover."  The  quiet,  monotonous  round  of  my 
new  life  was  far  from  wearying  me.  I,  too,  wanted  repose  — 
I  had  no  interests,  no  pleasures,  out  of  my  husband's  room. 

Once,  and  once  only,  the  placid  surface  of  our  lives  was 
just  gently  ruffled  by  an  allusion  to  the  past.  Something 
that  I  accidentally  said  reminded  Eustace  of  our  last  interview 
at  Major  Fitz-David's  house.  He  referred,  very  delicately, 
to  what  I  had  then  said  of  the  Verdict  pronounced  on  him  at 
the  Trial ;  and  he  left  me  to  infer  that  a  word  from  my  lips, 
confirming  what  his  mother  had  already  told  him,  would 
quiet  his  mind  at  once  and  forever. 


328  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

My  answer  involved  no  embarrassments  or  difficulties ;  I 
could  and  did  honestly  tell  him  that  I  had  made  his  wishes 
my  law.  But  it  was  hardly  in  womanhood,  I  am  afraid,  to 
be  satisfied  with  merely  replying,  and  to  leave  it  there.  I 
thought  it  due  to  me  that  Eustace  too  should  concede  some- 
thing, in  the  way  of  an  assurance  which  might  quiet  ray  mind. 
As  usual  with  me,  the  words  followed  the  impulse  to  speak 
them.  "  Eustace,"  I  asked,  "  are  you  quite  cured  of  those 
cruel  doubts  which  once  made  you  leave  me?" 

His  answer  (as  he  afterward  said)  made  me  blush  with 
pleasure.  "Ah,  Valeria,  I  should  never  have  gone  away  if 
I  had  known  you  then  as  well  as  I  know  you  now !" 

So  the  last  shadows  of  distrust  melted  away  out  of  our 
lives. 

The  very  remembrance  of  the  turmoil  and  the  trouble  of 
my  past  days  in  London  seemed  now  to  fade  from  my  mem- 
ory. We  were  lovers  again ;  we  were  absorbed  again  in 
each  other;  we  could  almost  fancy  that  our  marriage  dated 
back  once  more  to  a  day  or  two  since.  But  one  last  victory 
over  myself  was  wanting  to  make  my  happiness  complete. 
I  still  felt  secret  longings,  in  those  dangerous  moments  when 
I  was  left  by  myself,  to  know  whether  the  search  for  the 
torn  letter  had  or  had  not  taken  place.  What  wayward 
creatures  we  are !  With  every  thing  that  a  woman  could 
want  to  make  her  happy,  I  was  ready  to  put  that  happiness 
in  peril  rather  than  remain  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on 
at  Gleninch !  I  actually  hailed  the  day  when  my  empty 
purse  gave  me  an  excuse  for  going  to  my  banker's  corre- 
spondent on  business,  and  so  receiving  any  letters  waiting  for 
me  which  might  be  placed  in  my  hands. 

I  applied  for  my  money  without  knowing  what  I  was  about; 
wondering  all  the  time  whether  Benjamin  had  written  to  me 
or  not.  My  eyes  wandered  over  the  desks  and  tables  in  the 
office,  looking  for  letters  furtively.  Nothing  of  the  sort  was 
visible.  But  a  man  appeared  from  an  inner  office :  an  ugly 
man,  who  was  yet  beautiful  to  my  eyes,  for  this  sufficient 
reason — he  had  a  letter  in  his  hand,  and  he  said,  "  Is  this  for 
you,  ma'am  ?" 

A  glance  at  the  address  showed  me  Benjamin's  handwrit- 
ing. 

Had  they  tried  the  experiment  of  recovering  the  letter? 
and  had  they  failed  ? 


THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY.  329 

Somebody  put  my  money  in  my  bag,  and  politely  led  me 
out  to  the  little  hired  carriage  which  was  waiting  for  rne  at 
the  door.  I  remember  nothing  distinctly  until  I  opened  the 
letter  on  my  way  home.  The  first  words  told  me  that  the 
dust-heap  had  been  examined,  and  that  the  fragments  of  the 
torn  letter  had  been  found. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   DUST-HEAP   DISTURBED. 

MY  head  turned  giddy.  I  was  obliged  to  wait  and  let 
my  overpowering  agitation  subside,  before  I  could  read  any 
more. 

Looking  at  the  letter  again,  after  an  interval,  my  eyes  fell 
accidentally  on  a  sentence  near  the  end,  which  surprised  and 
startled  me. 

I  stopped  the  driver  of  the  carriage,  at  the  entrance  to  the 
street  in  which  our  lodgings  were  situated,  and  told  him  to 
take  me  to  the  beautiful  park  of  Paris — the  famous  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  My  object  was  to  gain  time  enough,  in  this  way, 
to  read  the  letter  carefully  through  by  myself,  and  to  ascer- 
tain whether  I  ought  or  ought  not  to  keep  the  receipt  of  it 
a  secret  before  I  confronted  my  husband  and  his  mother  at 
home. 

This  precaution  taken,  I  read  the  narrative  which  my  good 
Benjamin  had  so  wisely  and  so  thoughtfully  written  for  me. 
Treating  the  various  incidents  methodically,  he  began  with 
the  Report  which  had  arrived,  in  due  course  of  mail,  from  our 
agent  in  America. 

Our  man  had  successfully  traced  the  lodge-keeper's  daugh- 
ter and  her  husband  to  a  small  town  in  one  of  the  "Western 
States.  Mr.  Playrnore's  letter  of  introduction  at  once  se- 
cured him  a  cordial  reception  from  the  married  pair,  and  a 
patient  hearing  when  he  stated  the  object  of  his  voyage 
across  the  Atlantic. 

His  first  questions  led  to  no  very  encouraging  results.  The 
woman  was  confused  and  surprised,'and  was  apparently  quite 
unable  to  exert  her  memory  to  any  useful  purpose.  Fortu- 
nately, her  husband  proved  to  be  a  very  intelligent  man.  He 
took  the  agent  privately  aside,  and  said  to  him,  "  I  under- 


330  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

stand  my  wife,  and  you  don't.  Tell  me  exactly  what  it  is 
you  want  to  know,  and  leave  it  to  me  to  discover  how  much 
she  remembers  and  how  much  she  forgets." 

This  sensible  suggestion  was  readily  accepted.  The  agent 
waited  for  events  a  day  and  a  night. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  husband  said  to  him,  "  Talk  to 
my  wife  now,  and  you  will  find  she  has  something  to  tell  you. 
Only  mind  this.  Don't  laugh  at  her  when  she  speaks  of 
trifles.  She  is  half  ashamed  to  speak  of  trifles,  even  to  me. 
Thinks  men  are  above  such  matters,  you  know.  Listen 
quietly,  and  let  her  talk — and  you  will  get  at  it  all  in  that 
way." 

The  agent  followed  his  instructions,  and  "got  at  it"  as 
follows : 

The  woman  remembered,  perfectly  well,  being  sent  to  clean 
the  bedrooms  and  put  them  tidy,  after  the  gentlefolks  had 
all  left  Gleninch.  Her  mother  had  a  bad  hip  at  the  time, 
and  could  not  go  with  her  and  help  her.  She  did  not  much 
fancy  being  alone  in  the  great  house,  after  what  had  happen- 
ed in  it.  On  her  way  to  her  work  she  passed  two  of  the 
cottagers'  children  in  the  neighborhood  at  play  in  the  park. 
Mi\  Macallan  was  always  kind  to  his  poor  tenants,  and  never 
objected  to  the  young  ones  round  about  having  a  run  on  the 
grass.  The  two  children  idly  followed  her  to  the  house.  She 
took  them  inside,  along  with  her — not  liking  the  place,  as  al- 
ready mentioned,  and  feeling  that  they  would  be  company 
in  the  solitary  rooms. 

She  began  her  work  in  the  Guests'  Corridor — leaving  the 
room  in  the  other  corridor,  in  which  the  death  had  hap- 
pened, to  the  last. 

There  was  very  little  to  do  in  the  two  first  rooms.  There 
was  not  litter  enough,  when  she  had  swept  the  floors  and 
cleaned  the  grates,  to  even  half  fill  the  housemaid's  bucket 
which  she  carried  with  her.  The  children  followed  her 
about;  and,  ail  things  considered,  were  "very  good  com- 
pany" in  the  lonely  place. 

The  third  room  (that  is  to  say,  the  bedchamber  which  had 
been  occupied  by  Miserrimus  Dexter)  was  in  a  much  worse 
state  than  the  other  two,  and  wanted  a  great  deal  of  tidying. 
She  did  not  much  notice  the  children  here,  being  occupied 
with  her  work.  The  litter  was  swept  up  from  the  carpet, 
and  the  cinders  and  ashes  were  taken  out  of  the  grate,  and 


TI1E    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  331 

tlie  whole  of  it  was  in  the  bucket,  when  her  attention  was 
recalled  to  the  children  by  hearing  one  of  them  cry. 

She  looked  about  the  room  without  at  first  discovering 
them. 

A  fresh  outburst  of  crying  led  her  in  the  right  direction, 
and  showed  her  the  children  under  a  table  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  The  youngest  of  the  two  had  got  into  a  waste-paper 
basket.  The  eldest  had  found  an  old  bottle  of  gum,  with  a 
brush  fixed  in  the  cork,  and  was  gravely  painting  the  face  of 
the  smaller  child  with  what  little  remained  of  the  contents 
of  the  bottle.  Some  natural  struggles,  on  the  part  of  the 
little  creature,  had  ended  in  the  overthrow  of  the  basket, 
and  the  usual  outburst  of  crying  had  followed  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

In  this  state  of  things  the  remedy  was  soon  applied.  The 
woman  took  the  bottle  away  from  the  eldest  child,  and  gave 
it  a  "  box  on  the  ear."  The  younger  one  she  set  on  its  legs 
again,  and  she  put  the  two  "in  the  corner"  to  keep  them 
quiet.  This  done,  she  swept  up  such  fragments  of  the  torn 
paper  in  the  basket  as  had  fallen  on  the  floor;  threw  them 
back  again  into  the  basket,  along  with  the  gum-bottle  ;  fetch- 
ed the  bucket,  and  emptied  the  basket  into  it;  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  the  fourth  and  last  room  in  the  corridor,  where 
she  finished  her  work  for  that  day. 

Leaving  the  house,  with  the  children  after  her,  she  took 
the  filled  bucket  to  the  dust-heap,  and  emptied  it  in  a  hollow 
place  among  the  rubbish,  about  half-way  up  the  mound. 
Then  she  took  the  children  home ;  and  there  was  an  end  of 
it  for  the  day. 

Such  was  the  result  of  the  appeal  made  to  the  woman's 
memory  of  domestic  events  at  Gleninch. 

The  conclusion  at  which  Mr.  Playmore  arrived,  from  the 
facts  submitted  to  him,  was  that  the  chances  were  now  de- 
cidedly in  favor  of  the  recovery  of  the  letter.  Thrown  in, 
nearly  midway  between  the  contents  of  the  housemaid's 
bucket,  the  torn  morsels  would  be  protected  above  as  well 
as  below,  when  they  were  emptied  on  the  dust-heap. 

Succeeding  weeks  and  months  would  add  to  that  protec- 
tion, by  adding  to  the  accumulated  refuse.  In  the  neglect- 
ed condition  of  the  grounds,  the  dust-heap  had  not  been  dis- 
turbed in  search  of  manure.  There  it  had  stood,  untouched, 
from  the  time  when  the  family  left  Gleninch  to  the  present 


332  TIIE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 

day.  And  there,  hidden  deep  somewhere  in  the  mound,  the 
fragments  of  the  letter  must  be. 

Such  were  the  lawyer's  conclusions.  He  had  written  im- 
mediately to  communicate  them  to  Benjamin.  And,  there- 
upon, what  had  Benjamin  done? 

After  having  tried  his  powers  of  reconstruction  on  his  own 
correspondence,  the  prospect  of  experimenting  on  the  mys- 
terious letter  itself  had  proved  to  be  a  temptation  too  pow- 
erful for  the  old  man  to  resist.  "  I  almost  fancy,  my  dear, 
this  business  of  yours  has  bewitched  me,"  he  wrote.  "  You 
see  I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  an  idle  man.  I  have  time  to 
spare  and  money  to  spare.  And  the  end  of  it  is  that  I  am 
here  at  Gleninch,  engaged  on  my  own  sole  responsibility 
(with  good  Mr.  Playmore's  permission)  in  searching  the  dust- 
heap  !" 

Benjamin's  description  of  his  first  view  of  the  field  of 
action  at  Gleninch  followed  these  characteristic  lines  of 
apology. 

I  passed  over  the  description  without  ceremony.  My  re- 
membrance of  the  scene  was  too  vivid  to  require  any  prompt- 
ing of  that  sort.  I  saw  again,  in  the  dim  evening  light,  the 
unsightly  mound  which  had  so  strangely  attracted  my  at- 
tention at  Gleninch.  I  heard  again  the  words  in  which  Mr. 
Playmore  had  explained  to  me  the  custom  of  the  dust-heap 
in  Scotch  country-houses.  What  had  Benjamin  and  Mr. 
Playmore  done  ?  What  had  Benjamin  and  Mr.  Playmore 
found?  For  me,  the  true  interest  of  the  narrative  Vas  there 
— and  to  that  portion  of  it  I  eagerly  turned  next. 

They  had  proceeded  methodically,  of  course,  with  one  eye 
on  the  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and  the  other  on  the  ob- 
ject in  view.  In  Benjamin,  the  lawyer  had  found  what  he 
had  not  met^with  in  me  —  a  sympathetic  mind,  alive  to  the 
value  of  "  an  abstract  of  the  expenses,"  and  conscious  of  that 
most  remunerative  of  human  yirtues,  the  virtue  of  economy. 

At  so  much  a  week,  they  had  engaged  men  to  dig  into  the 
mound  and  to  sift  the  ashes.  At  so  much  a  week,  they  had 
hired  a  tent  to  shelter  the  open  dust-heap  from  wind  and 
weather.  At  so  much  a  week,  they  had  engaged  the  serv- 
ices of  a  young  man  (personally  known  to  Benjamin),  who 
was  empfbyed  in  a  laboratory  under  a  professor  of  chemis- 
try, and  who  had  distinguished  himself  by  his  skillful  manip- 
ulation of  ..paper  in  a  recent  case  of  forgery  on  a  well-known 


THE    LAW   AND   THE   LADY.  33* 

London  firm.  Armed  with  these  preparations,  they  had  begun 
the  work ;  Benjamin  and  the  young  chemist  living  at  Glen- 
inch,  and  taking  it  in  turns  to  superintend  the  proceedings. 

Three  days  ot'labor  with  the  spade  and  the  sieve  produced 
no  results  of  the  slightest  importance.  However,  the  matter 
was  in  the  hands  of  two  quietly  determined  men.  They  de- 
clined to  be  discouraged.  They  went  on. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  first  morsels  of  paper  were  found. 

Upon  examination,  they  proved  to  be  the  fragments  of  a 
tradesman's  prospectus.  Nothing  dismayed,  Benjamin  and 
the  young  chemist  still  persevered.  At  the  end  of  the  day's 
work  more  pieces  of  paper  were  turned  up.  These  proved 
to  be  covered  with  written  characters.  Mr.  Play  more  (arriv- 
ing at  Gleninch,  as  usual,  every  evening  on  the  conclusion 
of  his  labors  in  the  law)  was  consulted  as  to  the  handwrit- 
ing. After  careful  examination,  he.  declared  that  the  muti- 
lated portions  of  sentences  submitted  to  him  had  been  writ- 
ten, beyond  all  doubt,  by  Eustace  Macallan's  first  wife  ! 

This  discovery  aroused  the  enthusiasm  of  the  searchers  to 
fever  height. 

Spades  and  sieves  were  from  that  moment  forbidden  uten- 
sils. However  unpleasant  the  task  might  be,  hands  alone 
were  used  in  the  further  examination  of  the  mound.  The 
first  and  foremost  necessity  was  to  place  the  morsels  of  paper 
(in  flat  card-board  boxes  prepared  for  the  purpose)  in  their 
order  as  they  were  found.  Night  came ;  the  laborers  were 
dismissed  ;  Benjamin  and  his  two  colleagues  worked  on  by 
lamp-light.  The  morsels  of  paper  were  now  turned  up  by 
dozens,  instead  of  by  ones  and  twos.  For  a  while  the  search 
prospered  in  this  way ;  and  then  the  morsels  appeared  no 
more.  Had  they  all  been  recovered?  or  would  renewed 
hand-digging  yield  more  yet?  The  next  light  layers  of  rub- 
bish were  carefully  removed — and  the  grand  discovery  of 
the  day  followed.  There  (upside  down)  was  the  gum-bot- 
tle which  the  lodge-keeper's  daughter  had  spoken  of.  And, 
more  precious  still,  there,  under  it,  were  more  fragments  of 
written  paper,  all  stuck  together  in  a  little  lump,  by  the  last 
drippings  from  the  gurn-bottle  dropping  upon  them  as  they 
lay  on  the  dust-heap  ! 

The  scene  now  shifted  to  the  interior  of  the  house.  "When 
the  searchers  next  assembled  they  met  at  the  great  table  in 
the  library  at  Gleninch. 

P2 


334  THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY. 

Benjamin's  experience  with  the  "Puzzles"  which  he  had 
put  together  in  the  days  of  his  boyhood  proved  to  be  of  some 
use  to  his  companions.  The  fragments  accidentally  stuck 
together  would,  in  all  probability,  be  found  to  fit  each  other, 
and  would  certainly  (in  any  case)  be  the  easiest  fragments 
to  reconstruct  as  a  centre  to  start  from. 

The  delicate  business  of  separating  these  pieces  of  paper, 
and  of  preserving  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  had  ad- 
hered to  each  other,  was  assigned  to  the  practiced  fingers  of 
the  chemist.  But  the  difficulties  of  his  task  did  not  end  here. 
The  writing  was  (as  usual  in  letters)  traced  on  both  sides  of 
the  paper,  and  it  could  only  be  preserved  for  the  purpose  of 
reconstruction  by  splitting  each  morsel  into  two — so  as  arti- 
ficially to  make  a  blank  side,  on  which  could  be  spread  the 
fine  cement  used  for  reuniting  the  fragments  in  their  orig- 
inal form. 

To  Mr.  Playmore  and  Benjamin  the  prospect  of  success- 
fully putting  the  letter  together,  under  these  disadvantages, 
seemed  to  be  almost  hopeless.  Their  skilled  colleague  soon 
satisfied  them  thaf,  t!:  •  were  wrong. 

He  drew  their  attention  cc  the  thickness  of  the  paper  — 
note-paper  of  the  strongest  and  best  quality  —  on  which 
the  writing  was  traced.  It  was  of  more  than  twice  the  sub- 
stance of  the  last  paper  on  which  he  had  operated,  when  he 
was  engaged  in  the  forgery  case ;  and  it  was,  on  that  account, 
comparatively  easy  for  him  (aided  by  the  mechanical  appli- 
ances which  he  had  brought  from  London)  to  split  the  mor- 
sels of  the  torn  paper,  within  a  given  space  of  time  which 
might  permit  them  to  begin  the  reconstruction  of  the  letter 
that  night. 

With  these  explanations,  he  quietly  devoted  himself  to  his 
work.  While  Benjamin  and  the  lawyer  were  still  poring 
over  the  scattered  morsels  of  the  letter  which  had  been  first 
discovered,  and  trying  to  piece  them  together  again,  the 
chemist  had  divided  the  greater  part  of  the  fragments  spe- 
cially confided  to  him  into  two  halves  each  ;  and  had  correct- 
ly put  together  some  five  or  six  sentences  of  the  letter  on  the 
smooth  sheet  of  cardboard  prepared  for  that  purpose. 

They  looked  eagerly  at  the  reconstructed  writing  so 
far. 

It  was  correctly  done :  the  sense  was  perfect.  The  first 
result  gained  by  examination  was  remarkable  enough  to  re- 


THE    LAW    AXI>    THE    LADY.  335 

•ward  them  for  all  their  exertions.  The  language  used  plain- 
ly identified  the  person  to  whom  the  late  Mrs.  Eustace  had 
addressed  her  letter. 

That  person  was — my  husband. 

And  the  letter  thus  addressed — if  the  plainest  circumstan- 
tial evidence  could  be  trusted — was  identical  with  the  letter 
which  Miserrimus  Dexter  had  suppressed  until  the  Trial  was 
over,  and  had  then  destroyed  by  tearing  it  up. 

These  were  the  discoveries  that  had  been  made  at  the 
time  when  Benjamin  wrote  to  me.  He  had  been  on  the 
point  of  posting  his  letter,  when  Mr.  Playmore  had  suggest- 
ed that  lie  should  keep  it  by  him  for  a  few  days  longer,  ou 
the  chance  of  having  more  still  to  tell  me. 

"  We  are  indebted  to  her  for  these  results,"  the  lawyer 
had  said.  "But  for  her  resolution,  and  her  influence  over 
Miserrimus  Dexter,  we  should  never  have  discovered  what 
the  dust-heap  was  hiding  from  us  —  we  should  never  have 
seen  so  much  as  a  glimmering  of  the  truth.  She  has  the  first 
claim  to  the  fulle* '  utbnnation.  Let  her  have  it." 

The  letter  had  t.v.i  accordiaffly  *  back  for  three  days. 
That  interval  being  at  an  end,it  was,,  uned  and 

concluded  in  terms  which  indescribably  alaYnied  me. 

"The  chemist  is  advancing  rapidly  with  his  part  of  the 
work"  (Benjamin  wrote) ;  "and  I  have  succeeded  in  putting 
together  a  separate  portion  of  the  torn  writing  which  makes 
sense.  Comparison  of  what  he  has  accomplished  with  what 
I  have  accomplished  has  led  to  startling  conclusions.  Un- 
less Mr.  Playmore  and  I  are  entirely  wrong  (and  God  grant 
we  may  be  so  !),  there  is  a  serious  necessity  for  your  keeping 
the  reconstruction  of  the  letter  strictly  secret  from  every 
body  about  you.  The  disclosures  suggested  by  what  has 
come  to  light  are  so  heart-rending  and  so  dreadful  that  I 
can  not  bring  myself  to  write  about  them  until  I  am  abso- 
lutely obliged  to  do  so.  Please  forgive  me  for  disturbing 
you  with  this  news.  We  are  bound,  sooner  or  later,  to  con- 
sult with  you  in  the  matter;  and  we  think  it  right  to  pre- 
pare your  mind  for  what  may  be  to  come." 

To  this  there  was  added  a  postscript  in  Mr.  Playrnore's 
handwriting: 

"Pray  observe  strictly  the  caution  which  V. r.  Benjamin 
imprcs-es  on  you.  And  bear  this  in  mind,  as  a  warning  from 
me:  If  we  succeed  in  reconstructing  the  cfltiro  letter,  the 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY. 


last  person  living  who  ought  (in  my  opinion)  to  be  allowed 
to  see  it  is — your  husband." 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE     CRISIS     DEFERRED. 

"  TAKE  care,  Valeria  !"  said  Mrs.  Macallan.  "  I  ask  you 
no  questions  ;  I  only  caution  you  for  your  own  sake.  Eus- 
tace has  noticed  what  I  have  noticed — Eustace  has  seen  a 
change  in  you.  Take  care  !" 

So  my  mother-in-law  spoke  to  me  later  in  the  day,  when 
we  happened  to  be  alone.  I  had  done  my  best  to  conceal 
all  traces  of  the  effect  produced  on  me  by  the  strange  and 
terrible  news  from  Gleuinch.  But  who  could  read  what  I 
had  read,  who  could  feel  what  I  now  felt,  and  still  maintain 
an  undisturbed  serenity  of  look  and  manner  ?  If  I  had  been 
the  vilest  hypocrite  living,  I  doubt  even  then  if  my  face 
could  have  kept  my  secret  while  my  mind  was  full  of  Ben- 
jamin's letter. 

Having  spoken  her  word  of  caution,  Mrs.  Macallan  made 
no  further  advance  to  me.  I  dare  say  she  was  right.  Still, 
it  seemed  hard  to  be  left,  without  a  word  of  advice  or  of 
sympathy,  to  decide  for  myself  what  it  was  my  duty  to  my 
husband  to  do  next. 

To  show  him  Benjamin's  narrative,  in  his  state  of  health, 
and  in  the  face  of  the  warning  addressed  to  me,  was  simply 
out  of  the  question.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  equally  im- 
possible, after  I  had  already  betrayed- myself,  to  keep  him 
entirely  in  the  dark.  I  thought  over  it  anxiously  in  the 
night.  When  the  morning  came,  I  decided  to  appeal  to  my 
husband's  confidence  in  me. 

I  went  straight  to  the  point  in  these  terms : 

"  Eustace,  your  mother  said  yesterday  that  you  noticed  a 
change  in  me  when  I  came  back  from  my  drive.  Is  she 
right  ?" 

"Quite  right, Valeria,"  he  answered  —  speaking  in  lower 
tones  than  usual,  and  not  looking  at  me. 

"We  have  no  concealments  from  each  other  now,"  I  an- 
swered. "  I  ought  to  tell  you,  and  do  tell  you,  that  I  found 
a  letter  from  ^England  waiting  at  the  banker's  which  has 


THE   LAW   AND   THE   LADY.  337 

caused  me  some  agitation  and  alarm.  Will  you  leave  it  to 
me  to  choose  my  own  time  for  speaking  more  plainly?  And 
will  you  believe,  love,  that  I  am  really  doing  my  duty  to- 
ward you,  as  a  good  wife,  in  making  this  request  ?" 

I  paused.  He  made  no  answer :  I  could  see  that  he  was 
secretly  struggling  with  himself.  Had  I  ventured  too  far? 
Had  I  overestimated  the  strength  of  my  influence  ?  My 
heart  beat  fast,  my  voice  faltered — but  I  summoned  courage 
enough  to  take  his  hand,  and  to  make  a  last  appeal  to  him. 
"  Eustace,"  I  said ;  "  don't  you  know  me  yet  well  enough  to 
trust  me  ?" 

He  turned  toward  me  for  the  first  time.  I  saw  a  last  van- 
ishing trace  of  doubt  in  his  eyes  as  they  looked  into  mine. 

"  You  promise,  sooner  or  later,  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth  ?'* 
he  said. 

"  I  promise  with  all  my  heart !" 

"  I  trust  you,  Valeria  !" 

His  brightening  eyes  told  me  that  he  really  meant  what 
he  said.  We  sealed  our  compact  with  a  kiss.  Pardon  me 
for  mentioning  these  trifles — I  am  still  writing  (if  you  will 
kindly  remember  it)  of  our  new  honeymoon. 

By  that  day's  post  I  answered  Benjamin's  letter,  telling 
him  what  I  had  done,  and  entreating  him,  if  he  and  Mr.  Play- 
more  approved  of  my  conduct,  to  keep  me  informed  of  any 
future  discoveries  which  they  might  make  at  Gleninch. 

After  an  interval — an  endless  interval,  as  it  seemed  to  me 
— of  ten  days  more,  I  received  a  second  letter  from  my  old 
friend,  with  another  postscript  added  by  Mr.  Playmore. 

"  We  are  advancing  steadily  and  successfully  with  the 
putting  together  of  the  letter,"  Benjamin  wrote.  "The  one 
new  discovery  which  we  have  made  is  of  serious  importance 
to  your  husband.  We  have  reconstructed  certain  sentences 
declaring,  in  the  plainest  words,  that  the  arsenic  which 
Eustace  procured  was  purchased  at  the  request  of  his  wife, 
and  was  in  her  possession  at  Gleninch.  This,  remember, 
is  in  the  handwriting  of  the  wife,  and  is  signed  by  the 
wife  —  as  we  have  also  found  out.  Unfortunately,  I  am 
obliged  to  add  that  the  objection  to  taking  your  husband 
into  our  confidence,  mentioned  when  I  last  wrote,  still  re- 
mains in  force — in  greater  force,  I  may  say,  than  ever.  The 
more  we  make  out  of  the  letter,  the  more  inclined  we  are  (if 


338  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

we  only  studied  our  own  feelings)  to  throw  it  back  into  the 
dust-heap,  in  mercy  to  the  memory  of  the  unhappy  writer. 
I  shall  keep  this  open  for  a  day  or  two.  If  there  is  more 
news  to  tell  you  by  that  time  you  will  hear  of  it  from  Mr. 
Playrnore." 

Mr.  Playmore's  postscript  followed,  dated  three  days  later. 

"  The  concluding  part  of  the  late  Mrs.  Macallan's  letter  to 
her  husband,"  the  lawyer  wrote,  "  has  proved  accidentally  to 
be  the  first  part  which  we  have  succeeded  in  piecing  togeth- 
er. With  the  exception  of  a  few  gaps  still  left,  here  and 
there,  the  writing  of  the  closing  paragraphs  has  been  perfect- 
ly reconstructed.  I  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination 
to  write  to  you  on  this  sad  subject  in  any  detail.  In  a  fort- 
night more,  at  the  longest,  we  shall,  I  hope,  send  you  ~a  copy 
of  the  letter,  complete  from  the  first  line  to  the  last.  Mean- 
while, it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  there  is  one  bright  side 
to  this  otherwise  deplorable  and  shocking  document.  Legally 
speaking,  as  well  as  morally  speaking,  it  absolutely  vindicates 
your  husband's  innocence.  And  it  may  be  lawfully  used  for 
this  purpose — if  he  can  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience,  and  to 
the  mercy  due  to  the  memory  of  the  dead,  to  permit  the  pub- 
lic exposure  of  the  letter  in  Court.  Understand  me,  he  can 
not  be  tried  again  on  what  we  call  the  criminal  charge — for 
certain  technical  reasons  with  which  I  need  not  trouble  you. 
But,  if  the  facts  which  were  involved  at  the  criminal  trial 
can  also  be  shown  to  be  involved  in  a  civil  action  (and  in 
this  case  they  can),  the  entire  matter  may  be  made  the  sub- 
ject of  a  new  legal  inquiry ;  and  the  verdict  of  a  second 
jury,  completely  vindicating  your  husband,  may  thus  be  ob- 
tained. Keep  this  information  to  yourself  for  the  present. 
Preserve  the  position  which  you  have  so  sensibly  adopted 
toward  Eustace  until  you  have  read  the  restored  letter. 
"When  you  have  done  this,  my  own  idea  is  that  you  will 
shrink,  in  pity  to  him,  from  letting  him  see  it.  How  he  is  to 
be  kept  in  ignorance  of  what  we  have  discovered  is  another 
question,  the  discussion  of  which  must  be  deferred  until  we 
can  consult  together.  Until  that  time  comes,  I  can  only  re- 
peat my  advice  —  wait  till  the  next  news  reaches  you  from 
Gleninch." 

I  waited.  What  I  suffered,  what  Eustace  thought  of  me, 
does  not  matter.  Nothing  matters  now  but  the  facts. 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  more  the  task  of  restoring  the  let- 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  339 

ter  was  completed.  Excepting  certain  instances,  in  which 
the  morsels  of  the  torn  paper  had  been  irretrievably  lost  — 
and  in  which  it  had  been  necessary  to  complete  the  sense  in 
harmony  with  the  writer's  intention  —  the  whole  letter  had 
been  put  together ;  and  the  promised  copy  of  it  was  forward- 
ed to  me  in  Paris. 

Before  you,  too,  read  that  dreadful  letter,  do  me  one  favor. 
Let  me  briefly  remind  you  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
Eustace  Macallan  married  his  first  wife. 

Remember  that  the  poor  creature  fell  in  love  with  him 
without  awakening  any  corresponding  affection  on  his  side. 
Remember  that  he  separated  himself  from  her,  and  did  all  he 
could  to  avoid  her,  when  he  found  this  out.  Remember  that 
she  presented  herself  at  his  residence  in  London  without  a 
word  of  warning ;  that  he  did  his  best  to  save  her  reputa- 
tion ;  that  he  failed,  through  no  fault  of  his  own ;  and  that 
he  ended,  rashly  ended  in  a  moment  of  despair,  by  marrying 
her,  to  silence  the  scandal  that  must  otherwise  have  blighted 
her  life  as  a  woman  for  the  rest  of  her  days.  Bear  all  this 
in  mind  (it  is  the  sworn  testimony  of  respectable  witnesses) ; 
and  pray  do  not  forget — however  foolishly  and  blamably  he 
may  have  written  about  her  in  the  secret  pages  of  his  Diary 
— that  he  was  proved  to  have  done  his  best  to  conceal  from 
his  wife  the  aversion  which  the  poor  soul  inspired  in  him  ; 
and  that  he  was  (in  the  opinion  of  those  who  could  best 
judge  him)  at  least  a  courteous  and  a  considerate  husband, 
if  he  could  be  no  more. 

And  now  take  the  letter.  It  asks  but  one  favor  of  you  : 
it  asks  to  be  read  by  the  light  of  Christ's  teaching — "  Judge 
uot,that  ye  be  not  judged." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE     WIFI-:'s     CONFESSION. 

"  GLENINCH,  October  19, 18—. 
"  MY  HUSBAND,— 

"  I  have  something  very  painful  to  tell  you  about  one  of 
your  oldest  friends. 

"You  have   never  encouraged  me  to  come  to  you  with 
any  confidences  of  mine.     If  you  had  allowed  me  to  be  as 


340  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

familiar  with  you  as  some  wives  are  with  their  husbands,  I 
should  have  spoken  to  you  personally  instead  of  writing. 
As  it  is,  I  don't  know  how  you  might  receive  what  I  have 
to  say  to  you  if  I  said  it  by  woi'd  of  mouth.  So  I  write. 

"The  man  against  whom  I  warn  you  is  still  a  guest  in 
this  house  —  Miserrimus  Dexter.  No  falser  or  wickeder 
creature  walks  the  earth.  Don't  throw  my  letter  aside !  I 
have  waited  to  say  this  until  I  could  find  proof  that  might 
satisfy  you.  I  have  got  the  proof. 

"  You  may  remember  that  I  ventured  to  express  some 
disapproval  when  you  first  told  me  you  had  asked  this  man 
to  visit  us.  If  you  had  allowed  me  time  to  explain  myself, 
I  might  have  been  bold  enough  to  give  you  a  good  reason 
for  the  aversion  I  felt  toward  your  friend.  But  you  would 
not  wait.  You  hastily  (and  most  unjustly)  accused  me  of 
feeling  prejudiced  against  the  miserable  creature  on  account 
of  his  deformity.  No  other  feeling  than  compassion  for  de- 
formed persons  has  ever  entered  my  mind.  I  have,  indeed,  al- 
most a  fellow-feeling  for  them;  being  that  next  worst  thing 
myself  to  a  deformity — a  plain  woman.  I  objected  to  Mr. 
Dexter  as  your  guest  because  he  had  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife  in  past  days,  and  because  I  had  reason  to  fear  that  he 
still  regarded  me  (after  my  marriage)  with  a  guilty  and  a  hor- 
rible love.  Was  it  not  my  duty,  as  a  good  wife,  to  object 
to  his  being  your  guest  at  Gleninch  ?  And  was  it  not  your 
duty,  as  a  good  husband,  to  encourage  me  to  say  more? 

"Well, Mr.  Dexter  has  been  your  guest  for  many  weeks; 
and  Mr.  Dexter  has  dared  to  speak  to  me  again  of  his  love. 
He  has  insulted  me,  and  insulted  you,  by  declaring  that  he 
adores  me  and  that  you  hate  me.  He  has  promised  me  a 
life  of  unalloyed  happiness,  in  a  foreign  country  with  my 
lover;  and  he  has  prophesied  for  me  a  life  of  unendurable 
misery  at  home  with  my  husband. 

"  Why  did  I  not  make  my  complaint  to  you,  and  have  this 
monster  dismissed  from  the  house  at  once  and  forever  ? 

"Are  you  sure  you  would  have  believed  me  if  I  had  com- 
plained, and  if  your  bosom  friend  had  denied  all  intention 
of  insulting  me  ?  I  heard  you  once  say  (when  you  were  not 
aware  that  I  was  within  hearing)  that  the  vainest  women 
were  always  the  ugly  women.  You  might  have  accused  me 
of  vanity.  Who  knows? 

"  But  I  have  no  desire  to  shelter  myself  under  this  excuse. 


THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY.  S41 

I  am  a  jealous,  unhappy  creature ;  always  doubtful  of  your 
affection  for  me;  always  fearing  that  another  woman  has 
got  my  place  in  your  heart.  Miserrimus  Dexter  has  prac- 
ticed on  this  weakness  of  mine.  He  has  declared  he  can  prove 
to  me  (if  I  will  permit  him)  that  I  am,  in  your  secret  heart, 
an  object  of  loathing  to  you  ;  that  you  shrink  from  touching 
me ;  that  you  curse  the  hour  when  you  were  foolish  enough 
to  make  me  your  wife.  I  have  struggled  as  long  as  I  could 
against  the  temptation  to  let  him  produce  his  proofs.  It  was 
a  terrible  temptation  to  a  woman  who  was  far  from  feeling 
sure  of  the  sincerity  of  your  affection  for  her;  and  it  has 
ended  in  getting  the  better  of  my  resistance.  I  wickedly 
concealed  the  disgust  which  the  wretch  inspired  in  me ;  I 
wickedly  gave  him  leave  to  explain  himself;  I  wickedly  per- 
mitted this  enemy  of  yours  and  of  mine  to  take  me  into  his 
confidence.  And  why  ?  Because  I  loved  you,  and  you  only ; 
and  because  Miserrirnus  Dexter's  proposal  did,  after  all,  echo 
a  doubt  of  you  that  had  long  been  gnawing  secretly  at  my 
heart. 

"  Forgive  me,  Eustace  !  This  is  my  first  sin  against  you. 
It  shall  be  my  last. 

"I  will  not  spare  myself;  I  will  write  a  full  confession 
of  what  I  said  to  him  and  of  what  he  said  to  me.  You  may 
make  me  suffer  for  it  when  you  know  what  I  have  done ; 
but  you  will  at  least  be  warned  in  time ;  you  will  see  your 
false  friend  in  his  true  light. 

"  I  said  to  him, '  How  can  you  prove  to  me  that  my  hus- 
band hates  me  in  secret  ?' 

"  He  answered, '  I  can  prove  it  under  his  own  handwriting ; 
you  shall  see  it  in  his  Diary.' 

"I  said,  'His  Diary  has  a  lock;  and  the  drawer  in  which 
he  keeps  it  has  a  lock.  How  can  you  get  at  the  Diary  and 
the  drawer?' 

"He  answered, 'I  have  my  own  way  of  getting  at  both 
of  them,  without  the  slightest  risk  of  being  discovered  by 
your  husband.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  give  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  you  privately.  I  will  engage,  in  return,  to 
bring  the  open  Diary  with  me  to  your  room.' 

"I  said, c  How  can  I  give  you  the  opportunity  ?  What  do 
you  mean  ?' 

"  He  pointed  to  the  key  in  the  door  of  communication  be- 
tween my  room  and  the  little  study. 


342  THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY. 

"  He  said, '  With  my  infirmity,  I  may  not  be  able  to  profit 
by  the  first  opportunity  of  visiting  you  here  unobserved.  I 
must  be  able  to  choose  my  own  time  and  my'  own  way  of 
getting  to  you  secretly.  Let  me  take  this  key,  leaving  the 
door  locked.  When  the  key  is  missed,  if  you  say  it  doesn't 
matter — if  you  point  out  that  the  door  is  locked,  and  tell  the 
servants  not  to  trouble  themselves  about  finding  the  key — 
there  will  be  no  disturbance  in  the  house ;  and  I  shall  be  in 
secure  possession  of  a  means  of  communication  with  you 
which  no  one  will  suspect.  Will  you  do  this?' 

"  I  have  done  it. 

"Yes!  I  have  become  the  accomplice  of  this  double-faced 
villain.  I  have  degraded  myself  and  outraged  you  by  mak- 
ing an  appointment  to  pry  into  your  Diary.  I  know  how 
base  my  conduct  is.  I  can  make  no  excuse.  I  can  only  re- 
peat that  I  love  you,  and  that  I  am  sorely  afraid  you  don't 
love  me.  And  Miserrimus  Dexter  offers  to  end  my  doubts 
by  showing  me  the  most  secret  thoughts  of  your  heart,  in 
your  own  writing. 

"  He  is  to  be  with  me,  for  this  purpose  (while  you  are  out), 
some  time  in  the  course  of  the  next  two  hours.  I  shall  de- 
cline to  be  satisfied  with  only  once  looking  at  your  Diary ; 
and  I  shall  make  an  appointment  with  him  to  bring  it  to  me 
again  at  the  same  time  to-morrow.  Before  then  you  will 
receive  these  lines  by  the  hand  of  my  nurse.  Go  out  as  usual 
after  reading  them  ;  but  return  privately,  and  unlock  the 
table-drawer  in  which  you  keep  your  book.  You  will  find 
it  gone.  Post  yourself  quietly  in  the  little  study ;  and  you 
will  discover  the  Diary  (when  Miserrimus  Dexter  leaves  me) 
in  the  hands  of  your  friend.* 

"October  20. 

"  I  have  read  your  Diary. 
"At  last  I  know  what  you  really  think  of  me.    I  have  read 

*  Note  by  Mr.  Playmore : 

The  greatest  difficulties  of  reconstruction  occurred  in  this  first  portion 
of  the  torn  letter.  In  the  fourth  paragraph  from  the  beginning  we  have 
been  obliged  to  supply  lost  words  in  no  less  than  three  places.  In  the  ninth, 
tenth,  and  seventeenth  paragraphs  the  same  proceeding  was,  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  found  to  be  necessary.  In  all  these  cases  the  utmost  pains  have 
been  taken  to  supply  the  deficiency  in  exact  accordance  with  what  appeared 
to  be  the  meaning  of  the  writer,  as  indicated  in  the  existing  pieces  of  the 
manuscript. 


TUB   LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  343 

what  Miserrimus  Dexter  promised  I  should  read — the  con- 
fession of  your  loathing  for  me,  in  your  own  handwriting. 

"You  will  not  receive  what  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday  at 
the  time  or  in  the  manner  which  I  had  proposed.  Long  as 
my  letter  is,  I  have  still  (after  reading  your  Diary)  some 
more  words  to  add.  After  I  have  closed  and  sealed  the  en- 
velope, and  addressed  it  to  you, I  shall  put  it  under  my  pillow. 
It  will  be  found  there  when  I  am  laid  out  for  the  grave — and 
then,  Eustace  (when  it  is  too  late  for  hope  or  help),  my  letter 
will  be  given  to  you. 

"Yes:  I  have  had  enough  of  my  life.    Yes:  I  mean  to  die. 

"I  have  already  sacrificed  every  thing  but  my  life  to  my 
love  for  you.  Now  I  know  that  my  love  is  not  returned, 
the  last  sacrifice  left  is  easy.  My  death  will  set  you  free  to 
marry  Mrs.  Beauly. 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  cost  me  to  control  my  hatred 
of  her,  and  to  beg  her  to  pay  her  visit  here,  without  minding 
my  illness.  I  could  never  have  done  it  if  I  had  not  been  so 
fond  of  you,  and  so  fearful  of  irritating  you  against  me  by 
showing  my  jealousy.  And  how  did  you  reward  me?  Let 
your  Diary  answer :  '  I  tenderly  embraced  her  this  very 
morning ;  and  I  hope,  poor  soul,  she  did  not  discover  the  ef- 
fort that  it  cost  me.' 

"  Well,  I  have  discovered  it  now.  I  know  that  you  pri- 
vately think  your  life  with  me  *  a  purgatory.'  I  know  that 
you  have  compassionately  hidden  from  me  the  '  sense  of 
shrinking  that  comes  over  you  when  you  are  obliged  to  sub- 
mit to  my  caresses.'  I  am  nothing  but  an  obstacle — an  '  ut- 
terly distasteful'  obstacle — between  you  and  the  woman 
whom  you  love  so  dearly  that  you  '  adore  the  earth  which 
she  touches  with  her  foot.'  Be  it  so !  I  will  stand  in  your 
way  no  longer.  It  is  no  sacrifice  and  no  merit  on  my  part. 
Life  is  unendurable  to  me,  now  I  know  that  the  man  whom 
I  love  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  secretly  shrinks  from  me 
whenever  I  touch  him. 

"  I  have  got  the  means  of  death  close  at  hand. 

"The  arsenic  that  I  twice  asked  you  to  buy  for  me  is  in 
my  dressing-case.  I  deceived  you  when  I  mentioned  some 
commonplace  domestic  reasons  for  wanting  it.  My  true 
reason  was  to  try  if  I  could  not  improve  my  ugly  complexion 
— not  from  any  vain  feeling  of  mine:  only  to  make  mysdf 
look  better  and  more  lovable  in  your  eyes.  I  have  taken 


344  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

some  of  it  for  that  purpose ;  but  I  have  got  plenty  left  to 
kill  myself  with.  The  poison  will  have  its  use  at  last.  It 
might  have  failed  to  improve  my  complexion — it  will  not 
fail  to  relieve  you  of  your  ugly  wife. 

"  Don't  let  me  be  examined  after  death.  Show  this  letter 
to  the  doctor  who  attends  me.  It  will  tell  him  that  I  have 
committed  suicide ;  it  will  prevent  any  innocent  persons 
from  being  suspected  of  poisoning  me.  I  want  nobody  to  be 
blamed  or  punished.  I  shall  remove  the  chemist's  label,  and 
carefully  empty  the  bottle  containing  the  poison,  so  that  he 
may  not  suffer  on  my  account. 

"I  must  wait  here,  and  rest  a  little  while — then  take  up 
my  letter  again.  It  is  far  too  long  already.  But  these  are 
my  farewell  words.  I  may  surely  dwell  a  little  on  my  last 
talk  with  you ! 

"October  21.  Two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
"  I  sent  you  out  of  the  room  yesterday  when  you  came  in 
to  ask  how  I  had  passed  the  night.  And  I  spoke  of  you 
shamefully,  Eustace,  after  you  had  gone,  to  the  hired  nurse 
who  attends  on  me.  Forgive  me.  I  am  almost  beside  my- 
self now.  You  know  why. 

"  Half-past  three. 

"  Oh,  my  husband,  I  have  done  the  deed  which  will  relieve 
.you  of  the  wife  whom  you  hate !  I  have  taken  the  poison — 
all  of  it  that  was  left  in  the  paper  packet,  which  was  the  first 
that  I  found.  If  this  is  not  enough  to  kill  me,  I  have  more 
left  in  the  bottle. 

"  Ten  minutes  past  five. 

"  You  have  just  gone,  after  giving  me  my  composing 
draught.  My  courage  failed  me  at  the  sight  of  you.  I 
thought  to  myself, '  If  he  look  at  me  kindly,  I  will  confess 
what  I  have  done,  and  let  him  save  my  life.'  You  never 
looked  at  me  at  all.  You  only  looked  at  the  medicine.  I 
let  you  go  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Half-past  five. 

"I  begin  to  feel  the  first  effects  .of  the  poison.  The  nurse 
is  asleep  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  I  won't  call  for  assistance ; 
I  won't  wake  her.  I  will  die. 

"  Half-past  nine. 

"  The  agony  was  beyond  my  endurance — I  awoke  the  nurse. 
I  have  seen  the  doctor. 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  345 

"  Nobody  suspects  any  thing.  Strange  to  say,  the  pain 
has  left  me;  I  have  evidently  taken  too  little  of  the  poison. 
I  must  open  the  bottle  which  contains  the  larger  quantity. 
Fortunately,  you  are  not  near  me — my  resolution  to  die,  or, 
rather,  my  loathing  of  life,  remains  as  bitterly  unaltered  as 
ever.  To  make  sure  of  my  courage,  I  have  forbidden  the 
nurse  to  send  for  you.  She  has  just  gone  down-stairs  by  my 
orders.  I  am  free  to  get  the  poison  out  of  my  dressing-case. 

"  Ten  minutes  to  ten. 

"  I  had  just  time  to  hide  the  bottle  (after  the  nurse  had 
left  me)  when  you  came  into  my  room. 

"  I  had  another  moment  of  weakness  when  I  saw  you.  I 
determined  to  give  myself  a  last  chance  of  life.  That  is  to 
say,  I  determined  to  offer  you  a  last  opportunity  of  treating 
me  kindly.  I  asked  you  to  get  me  a  cup  of  tea.  If,  in  pay- 
ing me  this  little  attention,  you  only  encouraged  me  by  one 
fond  word  or  one  fond  look,  I  resolved  not  to  take  the  second 
dose  of  poison. 

"  You  obeyed  my  wishes,  but  you  were  not  kind.  You 
gave  me  my  tea,  Eustace,  as  if  you  were  giving  a  drink  to 
your  dog.  And  then  you  wondered  in  a  languid  way  (think- 
ing, I  suppose,  of  Mrs.  Beauly  all  the  time),  at  my  dropping 
the  cup  in  handing  it  back  to  you.  I  really  could  not  help 
it ;  my  hand  would  tremble.  In  my  place,  your  hand  might 
have  trembled  too — with  the  arsenic  under  the  bedclothes? 
You  politely  hoped,  before  you  went  away,  that  the  tea  would 
do  me  good — and,  oh  God,  you  could  not  even  look  at  me 
when  you  said  that !  You  looked  at  the  broken  bits  of  the 
tea-cup. 

"The  instant  you  were  out  of  the  room  I  took  the  poison 
— a  double  dose  this  time. 

"I  have  a  little  request  to  make  here,  while  I  think  of  it. 

"After  removing  the  label  from  the  bottle,  and  putting  it 
back,  clean,  in  my  dressing-case,  it  struck  me  that  I  had  failed 
to  take  the  same  precaution  (in  the  early  morning)  with  the 
empty  paper-packet,  bearing  on  it  the  name  of  the  other  chem- 
ist. I  threw  it  aside  on  the  counterpane  of  the  bed,  among 
some  other  loose  papers.  My  ill-tempered  nurse  complained 
of  the  litter,  and  crumpled  them  all  up  and  put  them  away 
somewhere.  I  hope  the  chemist  will  not  suffer  through  my  care- 
lessness. Pray  bear  it  in  mind  to  say  that  he  is  not  to  blame. 


346  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Dexter — something  reminds  me  of  Miserrimus  Dexter. 
He  has  put  your  Diary  back  again  in  the  drawer,  and  he 
presses  me  for  an  answer  to  his  proposals.  Has  this  false 
wretch  any  conscience  ?  If  he  has,  even  he  will  suffer — when 
my  death  answers  him. 

"The  nurse  has  been  in  my  room  again.  I  have  sent  her 
away.  I  have  told  her  I  want  to  be  alone. 

"How  is  the  time  going?  I  can  not  find  my  watch.  Is 
the  pain  coming  back  again  and  paralyzing  me  ?  I  don't  feel 
it  keenly  yet. 

"  It  may  come  back,  though,  at  any  moment.  I  have  still 
to  close  my  letter  and  to  address  it  to  you.  And,  besides,  I 
must  save  up  my  strength  to  hide  it  under  the  pillow,  so  that 
nobody  may  find  it  until  after  my  death. 

"  Farewell,  my  dear.  I  wish  I  had  been  a  prettier  woman. 
A  more  loving  woman  (toward  you)  I  cojjld  not  bg»^  Even 
now  I  dread  the  sight  of  your  dear  face.  Even  now,  if  I  al- 
lowed myself  the  luxury  of  looking  at  you,  I  don't  know  that 
you  might  not  charm  me  into  confessing  what  I  have  done 
— before  it  is  too  late  to  save  me. 

"  But  you  are  not  here.     Better  as  it  is  !  better  as  it  is  ! 

"Once  more,  farewell!  Be  happier  than  you  have  been 
with  me.  I  love  you,  Eustace — I  forgive  you.  When  you 
have  nothing  else  to  think  about,  think  sometimes,  as  kindly 
as  you  can,  of  your  poor,  ugly 

"SABA  MACALLAN."* 

*  Note  by  Mr.  Play  more  : 

The  lost  words  and  phrases  supplied  in  this  concluding  portion  of  the  let- 
ter are  so  few  in  number  that  it  is  needless  to  mention  them.  The  fragments 
which  were  found  accidentally  stuck  together  by  the  gum,  and  which  repre- 
sent the  part  of  the  letter  first  completely  reconstructed,  begin  at  the  phrase, 
"I  spoke  of  you  shamefully,  Eustace;"  and  end  with  the  broken  sentence, 
"If,  in  paying  me  this  little  attention,  you  only  encouraged  me  by  one  fond 
word  or  one  fond  look,  I  resolved  not  to  take — "  With  the  assistance  thus 
afforded  to  us,  the  labor  of  putting  together  the  concluding  half  of  the  letter 
(dated  "October  20")  was  trifling,  compared  with  the  almost  insurmount- 
able difficulties  which  we  encountered  in  dealing  with  the  scattered  wreck  of 
the  preceding  pages. 


THE    LAW    AND    THE    LADY.  347 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

WHAT     ELSE     COULD    I    DO? 

As  soon  as  I  could  dry  my  eyes  and. compose  my  spirits 
after  reading  the  wife's  pitiable  and  dreadful  farewell,  my 
first  thought  was  of  Eustace — my  first  anxiety  was  to  pre- 
vent him  from  ever  reading  what  I  had  read. 

Yes !  to  this  end  it  had  come.  I  had  devoted  my  life  to 
the  attainment  of  one  object;  and  that  object  I  had  gained. 
There,  on  the  table  before  me,  lay  the  triumphant  vindication 
of  my  husband's  innocence ;  and,  in  mercy  to  him,  in  mercy 
to  the  memory  of  his  dead  wife,  my  one  hope  was  that  he 
might  never  see  it !  my  one  desire  was  to  hide  it  from  the 
public  view  ! 

I  looked  back  at  the  strange  circumstances  under  which 
the  letter  had  been  discovered. 

It  was  all  my  doing — as  the  lawyer  had  said.  And  yet,  what 
I  had  done,  I  had,  so  to  speak,  done  blindfold.  The  merest 
accident  might  have  altered  the  whole  course  of  later  events. 
I  had  over  and  over  again  interfered  to  check  Ariel  when 
she  entreated  the  Master  to  "  tell  her  a  story."  If  she  had 
not  succeeded,  in  spite  of  my  opposition,  Miserrimus  Dexter's 
last  effort  of  memory  might  never  have  been  directed  to  the 
tragedy  at  Gleninch.  And,  again,  if  I  had  only  remembered 
to  move  my  chair,  and  so  to  give  Benjamin  the  signal  to  leave 
off,  he  would  never  have  written  down  the  apparently  sense- 
less words  which  have  led  us  to  the  discovery  of  the  truth. 

Looking  back  at  events  in  this  frame  of  mind,  the  very 
sight  of  the  letter  sickened  and  horrified  me.  I  cursed  the 
day  which  had  disinterred  the  fragments  of  it  from  their  foul 
tomb.  Just  at  the  time  when  Eustace  had  found  his  weary 
way  back  to  health  and  strength  ;  just  at  the  time  when  we 
were  united  ajjain  and  happy  again — when  a  month  or  two 
more  might  make  us  father  and  mother,  as  well  as  husband 
and  wife — that  frightful  record  of  suffering  and  sin  had  risen 
against  us  like  an  avenging  spirit.  There  it  faced  me  on  the 
table,  threatening  my  husband's  tranquillity;  nay,  for  all  I 
knew  (if  he  read  it  at  the  present  critical  stage  of  his  recov- 
ery) even  threatening  his  life  ! 


348  THE   LAW   AND  THE   LADY. 

The  hour  struck  from  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece.  It 
was  Eustace's  time  for  paying  me  his  morning  visit  in  my 
own  little  room.  He  might  come  in  at  any  moment ;  he 
might  see  the  letter ;  he  might  snatch  the  letter  out  of  my 
hand.  In  a  frenzy  of  terror  and  loathing,  I  caught  up  the 
vile  sheets  of  paper  and  threw  them  into  the  fire. 

It  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  a  copy  only  had  been  sent 
to  me.  If  the  original  letter  had  been  in  its  place,  I  believe 
I  should  have  burned  the  original  at  that  moment. 

The  last  morsel  of  paper  had  been  barely  consumed  by  the 
flames  when  the  door  opened,  and  Eustace  came  in. 

He  glanced  at  the  fire.  The  black  cinders  of  the  burned 
paper  were  still  floating  at  the  back  of  the  grate.  He  had 
seen  the  letter  brought  to  me  at  the  breakfast-table.  Did 
he  suspect  what  I  had  done?  He  said  nothing — he  stood 
gravely  looking  into  the  fire.  Then  he  advanced  and  fixed 
his  eyes  on  me.  I  suppose  I  was  very  pale.  The  first  words 
he  spoke  were  words  which  asked  me  if  I  felt  ill. 

I  was  determined  not  to  deceive  him,  even  in  the  merest 
trifle. 

"  I  am  feeling  a  little  nervous,  Eustace,"  I  answered ;  "  that 
is  all." 

He  looked  at  me  again,  as  if  he  expected  me  to  say  some- 
thing more.  I  remained  silent.  He  took  a  letter  out  of  the 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  before  me 
— just  where  the  Confession  had  lain  before  I  destroyed  it ! 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  too  this  morning,"  he  said.  "  And 
I,  Valeria,  have  no  secrets  from  you." 

I  understood  the  reproach  which  my  husband's  last  words 
conveyed ;  but  I  made  no  attempt  to  answer  him. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  read  it  ?"  was  all  I  said,  pointing  to 
the  envelope  which  he  had  laid  on  the  table. 

"I  have  already  said  that  I  have  no  secrets  from  you,"  he 
repeated.  "The  envelope  is  open.  See  for  yourself  what  is 
inclosed  in  it." 

I  took  out — not  a  letter,  but  a  printed  paragraph,  cut  from 
a  Scotch  newspaper. 

"  Read  it,"  said  Eustace. 

I  read  as  follows : 

"STRANGE  DOINGS  AT  GLENINCH.-^-A  romance  in  real  life 
seems  to  be  in  course  of  progress  at  Mr.  Macallan's  country- 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  349 

house.  Private  excavations  are  taking  place — if  our  readers 
will  pardon  us  the  unsavory  allusion — at  the  dust-heap,  of 
all  places  in.  the  world  !  Something  has  assuredly  been  dis- 
covered ;  but  nobody  kuo\vs  what.  This  alone  is  certain: 
For  weeks  past  two  strangers  from  London  (superintended  by 
our  respected  fellow-citizen,  Mr.  Playmore)  have  been  at  work 
night  and  day  in  the  library  at  Gleninch,  with  the  door  lock- 
ed. Will  the  secret  ever  be  revealed  ?  And  will  it  throw  any 
light  on  a  mysterious  and  shocking  event  which  our  readers 
have  leai-ned  to  associate  with  the  past  history  of  Gleninch  ? 
Perhaps  when  Mr.  Macallan  returns,  he  may  be  able  to  an- 
swer these  questions.  In  the  mean  time  we  can  only  await 
events." 

I  laid  the  newspaper  slip  on  the  table,  in  no  very  Christian 
frame  of  mind  toward  the  persons  concerned  in  producing 
it.  Some  reporter  in  search  of  news  had  evidently  been  pry- 
ing about  the  grounds  at  Gleninch,  and  some  busybody  in  the 
neighborhood  had  in  all  probability  sent  the  published  para- 
graph to  Eustace.  Entirely  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  I  waited 
for  my  husband  to  speak.  He  did  not  keep  me  in  suspense 
— he  questioned  me  instantly. 

"Do  you  understand  what  it  means,  Valeria  ?" 

I  answered  honestly — I  owned  that  I  understood  what  it 
meant. 

He  waited  again,  as  if  he  expected  me  to  say  more.  I  still 
kept  the  only  refuge  left  to  me — the  refuge  of  silence. 

"  Am  I  to  know  no  more  than  I  know  now  ?"  he  proceeded, 
after  an  interval.  "  Are  you  not  bound  to  tell  me  what  is 
going  on  in  my  own  house  ?" 

It  is  a  common  remark  that  people,  if  they  can  think  at  all, 
think  quickly  in  emergencies.  There  was  but  one  way  out 
of  the  embarrassing  position  in  which  my  husband's  last 
words  had  placed  me.  My  instincts  showed  me  the  way,  I 
suppose.  At  any  rate,  I  took  it. 

"  You  have  promised  to  trust  me,"  I  began. 

lie  admitted  that  he  had  promised. 

"  I  must  ask  you,  for  your  own  sake,  Eustace,  to  trust  me 
for  a  little  while  longer.  I  Avill  satisfy  you,  if  you  will  only 
give  me  time." 

His  face  darkened.  "IIo\v  much  longer  must  I  wait?" 
he  asked. 


350  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

I  saw  that  the  time  had  come  for  trying  some  stronger 
form  of  persuasion  than  words. 

"  Kiss  me,"  I  said,  "  before  I  tell  you  !" 

He  hesitated  (so  like  a  husband  !).  And  I  persisted  (so 
like  a  wife !).  There  was  no  choice  for  him  but  to  yield. 
Having  given  me  my  kiss  (not  over-graciously),  he  insisted 
once  more  on  knowing  how  much  longer  I  wanted  him  to 
wait. 

"  I  want  you  to  wait,"  I  answered, "  until  our  child  is  born." 

He  started.  My  condition  took  him  by  surprise.  I  gently 
pressed  his  hand,  and  gave  him  a  look.  He  returned  the 
look  (warmly  enough,  this  time,  to  satisfy  me).  "  Say  you 
consent,"  I  whispered. 

He  consented. 

So  I  put  oif  the  day  of  reckoning  once  more.  So  I  gained 
time  to  consult  again  with  Benjamin  and  Mr.  Playmore. 

While  Eustace  remained  with  me  in  the  room,  I  was  com- 
posed, and  capable  of  talking  to  him.  But  when  he  left 
me,  after  a  time,  to  think  over  what  had  passed  between  us, 
and  to  remember  how  kindly  he  had  given  way  to  me,  my 
heart  turned  pityingly  to  those  other  wives  (better  women, 
some  of  them,  than  I  am),  whose  husbands,  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances, would  have  spoken  hard  words  to  them — would 
perhaps  even  have  acted  more  cruelly  still.  The  contrast 
thus  suggested  between  their  fate  and  mine  quite  overcame 
me.  What  had  I  done  to  deserve  my  happiness  ?  What  had 
they  done,  poor  souls,  to  deserve  their  misery  ?  My  nerves 
were  overwrought,  I  dare  say,  after  reading  the  dreadful 
confession  of  Eustace's  first  wife.  I  burst  out  crying — and 
I  was  all  the  better  for  it  afterward  ! 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PAST    AND     FUTURE. 

I  WHITE  from  memory,  unassisted  by  notes  or  diaries ;  and 
I  have  no  distinct  recollection  of  the  length  of  our  residence 
abroad.  It  certainly  extended  over  a  period  of  some  months. 
Long  after  Eustace  was  strong  enough  to  take  the  journey 
to  London  the  doctors  persisted  in  keeping  him  in  Paris. 
He  had  shown  symptoms  of  weakness  in  one  of  his  lung?, 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  351 

and  his  medical  advisers,  seeing  that  he  prospered  in  the 
dry  atmosphere  of  Franoe,  warned  him  to  be  careful  of 
breathing  too  soon  the  moist  air  of  his  own  country. 

Thus  it  happened  that  we  were  still  in  Paris  when  I  re- 
ceived my  next  news  from  Gleninch. 

This  time  no  letters  passed  on  either  side.  To  my  sur- 
prise and  delight,  Benjamin  quietly  made  his  appearance 
one  morning  in  our  pretty  French  drawing-room.  He  was 
so  preternaturally  smart  in  his  dress,  and  so  incomprehensi- 
bly anxious  (while  my  husband  was  in  the  way)  to  make 
us  understand  that  his  reasons  for  visiting  Paris  were  holi- 
day reasons  only,  that  I  at  once  suspected  him  of  having 
crossed  the  Channel  in  a  double  character — say,  as  tourist 
in  search  of  pleasure,  when  third  persons  were  present ;  as 
embassador  from  Mr.  Playmore,  when  he  and  I  had  the  room 
to  ourselves. 

Later  in  the  day  I  contrived  that  we  should  be  left  to- 
gether, and  I  soon  found  that  my  anticipations  had  not  mis- 
led me.  Benjamin  had  set  out  for  Paris,  at  Mr.  Playmore's 
express  request,  to  consult  with  me  as  to  the  future,  and  to 
enlighten  me  as  to  the  past.  He  presented  me  with  his  cre- 
dentials in  the  shape  of  a  little  note  from  the  lawyer. 

"There  are  some  few  points"  (Mr. Playmore  wrote)  "which 
the  recovery  of  the  letter  does  not  seem  to  clear  up.  I  have 
done  my  best,  with  Mr.  Benjamin's  assistance,  to  find  the 
right  explanation  of  these  debatable  matters ;  and  I  have 
treated  the  subject,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  in  the  form  of 
Questions  and  Answers.  Will  you  accept  me  as  interpreter, 
after  the  mistakes  I  made  when  you  consulted  me  in  Edin- 
burgh? Events,  I  admit,  have  proved  that  I  was  entirely 
wrong  in  trying  to  prevent  you  from  returning  to  Dexter — 
and  partially  Avrong  in  suspecting  Dexter  of  being  directly, 
instead  of  indirectly,  answerable  for  the  first  Mrs.  Eustace's 
death.  I  frankly  make  my  confession,  and  leave  you  to  tell 
Mr.  Benjamin  whether  you  think  my  new  Catechism  worthy 
of  examination  or  not." 

I  thought  his  "  new  Catechism"  (as  he  called  it)  decidedly 
worthy  of  examination.  If  you  don't  agree  with  this  view, 
and  if  you  are  dying  to  be  done  with  me  and  my  narrative, 
pass  on  to  the  next  chapter  by  all  means ! 

Benjamin  produced  the  Questions  and  Answers;  and  read 
them  to  me,  at  my  request,  in  these  terms : 


352  TUE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

"  Questions  suggested  by  the  letter  discovered  at  Gleninch. 
First  Group :  Questions  relating  to  the  Diary.  First  Ques- 
tion :  In  obtaining  access  to  Mr.  Macallan's  private  journal, 
was  Miserrimus  Dexter  guided  by  any  previous  knowledge 
of  its  contents  ? 

"Answer :  It  is  doubtful  if  he  had  any  such  knowledge. 
The  probabilities  are  that  he  -noticed  how  carefully  Mi\ 
Macallan  secured  his  Diary  from,  observation ;  that  he  in- 
ferred therefrom  the  existence  of  dangerous  domestic  secrets 
in  the  locked -up  pages;  and  that  he  speculated  on  using 
those  secrets  for  his  own  purpose  when  he  caused  the  false 
keys  to  be  made. 

"  Second  Question :  To  what  motive  are  we  to  attribute 
Miserrimus  Dexter's  interference  with  the  sheriff's  officers, 
on  the  day  when  they  seized  Mr.  Macallan's  Diary  along 
with  his  other  papers  ? 

"Answer:  In  replying  to  this  question,  we  must  first  do 
justice  to  Dexter  himself.  Infamously  as  we  now  know  him 
to  have  acted,  the  man  was  not  a  downright  fiend.  That  he 
secretly  hated  Mr.  Macallan,  as  his  successful  rival  in  the 
affections  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved — and  that  he  did  all 
he  could  to  induce  the  unhappy  lady  to  desert  her  husband 
— are,  in  this  case,  facts  not  to  be  denied.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  fairly  to  be  doubted  whether  he  were  additionally 
capable  of  permitting  the  friend  who  trusted  him  to  be  tried 
for  murder,  through  his  fault,  without  making  an  effort  to 
save  the  innocent  man.  It  had  naturally  never  occurred  to 
Mr.  Macallan  (being  guiltless  of  his  wife's  death)  to  destroy 
his  Diary  and  his  letters,  in  the  fear  that  they  might  be  used 
against  him.  Until  the  prompt  and  secret  action  of  the  Fis- 
cal took  him  by  surprise,  the  idea  of  his  being  charged  with 
the  murder  of  his  wife  was  an  idea  which  we  know,  from  his 
own  statement,  had  never  even  entered  his  mind.  But  Dex- 
ter must  have  looked  at  the  matter  from  another  point  of 
view.  In  his  last  wandering  words  (spoken  when  his  mind 
broke  down)  he  refers  to  the  Diary  in  these  terms,  'The 
Diary  will  hang  him ;  I  won't  have  him  hanged.'  If  he  could 
have  found  his  opportunity  of  getting  at  it  in  time — or  if  the 
sheriff's  officers  had  not  been  too  quick  for  him — there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  Dexter  would  have  himself  de- 
stroyed the  Diary,  foreseeing  the  consequences  of  its  produc- 
tion in  court.  So  strongly  does  he  appear  to  have  felt  these 


THE    LAW    AND   THE    LADY.  353 

considerations,  that  ho  even  resisted  the  officers  in  the  exe- 
cution of  their  duty.  His  agitation  when  he  sent  for  Air. 
Playmore  to  interfere  was  witnessed  by  that  gentleman,  and 
(it  may  not  be  amiss  to  add)  was  genuine  agitation  beyond 
dispute. 

"  Questions  of  the  Second  Group :  relating  to  the  Wife's 
Confession.  First  Question :  What  prevented  Dexter  from 
destroying  the  letter,  when  he  first  discovered  it  under  the 
dead  woman's  pillow  ? 

"Answer:  The  same  motives  which  led  him  to  resist  the 
seizure  of  the  Diary,  and  to  give  his  evidence  in  the  pris- 
oner's favor  at  the  Trial,  induced  him  to  preserve  the  letter 
until  the  verdict  was  known.  Looking  back  once  more. at 
his  last  words  (as  taken  down  by  Mr.  Benjamin),  we  may 
infer  that  if  the  verdict  had  been  Guilty,  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  save  the  innocent  husband  by  producing  the 
wife's  confession.  There  are  degrees  in  all  wickedness. 
Dexter  was  wicked  enough  to  suppress  the  letter,  which 
wounded  his  vanity  by  revealing  him  as  an  object  for  loath- 
ing and  contempt — but  he  was  not  wicked  enough  deliber- 
ately to  let  an  innocent  man  perish  on  the  scaffold.  He  was 
capable  of  exposing  the  rival  whom  he  hated  to  the  infamy 
and  torture  of  a  public  accusation  of  murder ;  but,  in  the 
event  of  an  adverse  verdict,  he  shrank  before  the  direr  cruel- 
ty of  letting  him  be  hanged.  Reflect,  in  this  connection,  on 
what  he  must  have  suffered,  villain  as  he  was,  when  he  first 
read  the  wife's  confession.  He  had  calculated  on  undermin- 
ing her  affection  for  her  husband — and  whither  had  his  cal- 
culations led  him?  He  had  driven  the  woman  whom  he 
loved  to  the  last  dreadful  refuge  of  death  by  suicide  !  Give 
these  considerations  their  due  weight;  and  you  will  under- 
stand that  some  little  redeeming  virtue  might  show  itself,  as 
the  result  even  of  this  man's  remorse. 

"Second  Question:  What  motive  influenced  Miserrimus 
Dexter's  conduct,  when  Mrs.  (Valeria)  Macallan  informed  him 
that  she  proposed  reopening  the  inquiry  into  the  poisoning 
at  Gleuinch  ? 

"Answer:  In  all  probability,  Dexter's  guilty  fears  sug- 
gested to  him  that  lie  might  have  been  watched  on  the 
morning  when  he  secretly  entered  the  chamber  in  which  the 
first  Mrs.  Eustace  lay  dead.  Feeling  no  scruples  himself  to 
restrain  him  from  listening  at  doors  and  looking  through 


354  THE  LAW  AXD  THE  LADY. 

keyholes,  He  would  be  all  the  more  ready  to  suspect  other 
people  of  the  same  practices.  With  this  dread  in  him,  it 
would  naturally  occur  to  his  mind  that  Mrs.  Valeria  might 
meet  with  the  person  who  had  watched  him,  and  might  hear 
all  that  the  person  had  discovered — unless  he  led  her  astray 
at  the  outset  of  her  investigations.  Her  own  jealous  sus- 
picions of  Mrs.  Beauly  offered  him  the  chance  of  easily  doing 
this.  And  he  was  all  the  readier  to  profit  by  the  chance, 
being  himself  animated  by  the  most  hostile  feeling  toward 
that  lady.  He  knew  her  as  the  enemy  who  destroyed  the 
domestic  peace  of  the  mistress  of  the  house ;  he  loved  the 
mistress  of  the  house — and  he  hated  her  enemy  accordingly. 
The  preservation  of  his  guilty  secret,  and  the  persecution  of 
Mrs.  Beauly :  there  you  have  the  greater  and  the  lesser  mo- 
tive of  his  conduct  in  his  relations  with  Mrs.  Eustace  the 
second  !"* 

Benjamin  laid  down  his  notes,  and  took  off  his  spectacles. 

"  We  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  go  farther  than 
this,"  he  said.  "  Is  there  any  point  you  can  think  of  that  is 
still  left  unexplained  ?" 

I  reflected.  There  was  no  point  of  any  importance  left 
unexplained  that  I  could  remember.  But  there  was  one 
little  matter  (suggested  by  the  recent  allusions  to  Mrs.  Beau- 
ly) which  I  wished  (if  possible)  to  have  thoroughly  cleared 
up. 

"  Have  you  and  Mr.  Playmore  ever  spoken  together  on  the 
subject  of  my  husband's  former  attachment  to  Mrs.  Beauly  ?" 
I  asked.  "Has  Mr.  Playmore  ever  told  you  why  Eustace 
did  not  marry  her,  after  the  Trial  ?" 

"  I  put  that  question  to  Mr.  Playmore  myself,"  said  Ben- 
jamin. "He  answered  it  easily  enough.  Being  your  hus- 
band's confidential  friend  and  adviser,  he  was  consulted  when 
Mr.  Eustace  wrote  to  Mrs.  Beauly,  after  the  Trial ;  and  he 
repeated  the  substance  of  the  letter,  at  my  request.  Would 
you  like  to  hear  what  I  remember  of  it,  in  my  turn?" 

I  owned  that  I  should  like  to  hear  it.  ^What  Benjamin 
thereupon  told  me,  exactly  coincided  withfvhat  Mtserrimus 


*  Note  by  the  writer  of  the  Narrative: 

Look  back  for  a  further  illustration  of  this  point  of  view  to  the  scene  at 
Benjamin's  house  (Chapter  XXXV.),  where  Dexter,  in  a  moment  of  un- 
governable agitation,  betrays  his  own  secret  to  Valeria. 


THE    LAW    AM)   THE    LADY.  355 

Dexter  had  told  me — as  related  in  the  thirtieth  chapter  of 
my  narrative.  Mrs.  Bcauly  had  been  a  witness  of  the  public 
degradation  of  my  husband.  That  was  enough  in  itself  to 
prevent  him  from  marrying  her.  He  broke  off  with  her  for 
the  same  reason  which  had  led  him  to  separate  himself  from 
me.  Existence  with  a  woman  who  knew  that  he  had  been 
tried  for  his  life  as  a  murderer  was  an  existence  which  he  had 
not  resolution  enough  to  face.  The  two  accounts  agreed  in 
every  particular.  At  last  my  jealous  curiosity  was  pacified  ; 
and  Benjamin  was  free  to  dismiss  the  past  from  further  con- 
sideration, and  to  approach  the  more  critical  and  more  inter- 
esting topic  of  the  future. 

His  first  inquiries  related  to  Eustace.  He  asked  if  my 
husband  had  any  suspicion  of  the  proceedings  which  had 
taken  place  at  Gleniuch. 

I  told  him  what  had  happened,  and  how  I  had  contrived 
to  put  off  the  inevitable  disclosure  for  a  time. 

My  old  friend's  face  cleared  up  as  he  listened  to  me. 

"  This  will  be  good  news  for  Mr.  Play  more,"  he  said.  "  Our 
excellent  friend,  the  lawyer,  is  sorely  afraid  that  our  discov- 
eries may  compromise  your  position  with  your  husband.  On 
the  one  hand,  he  is  naturally  anxious  to  spare  Mr.  Eustace 
the  distress  which  he  must  certainly  feel,  if  he  read  his  first 
wife's  confession.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  impossible,  in 
justice  (as  Mr.  Play  more  puts  it)  to  the  unborn  children  of 
your  marriage,  to  suppress  a  document  which  vindicates  the 
memory  of  their  father  from  the  aspersion  that  the  Scotch 
Verdict  might  otherwise  cast  on  it." 

I  listened  attentively.  Benjamin  had  touched  on  a  trouble 
which  was  still  secretly  preying  on  my  mind. 

"  How  does  Mr.  Playmore  propose  to  meet  the  difficulty  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  He  can  only  meet  it  in  one  way,"  Benjamin  replied.  "  He 
proposes  to  seal  up  the  original  manuscript  of  the  letter,  and 
to  add  to  it  a  plain  statement  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  was  discovered,  supported  by  your  signed  attesta- 
tion and  mine,  as  witnesses  to  the  fact.  This  done,  he  must 
leave  it  to  you  to  take  your  husband  into  your  confidence, 
at  your  own  time.  It  will  then  be  for  Mr.  Eustace  to  de- 
cide whether  he  will  open  the  inclosurc — or  whether  he  will 
leave  it,  with  the  seal  unbroken,  as  an  heirloom  to  his  chil- 
dren, to  be  made  public  or  not,  at  their  discretion,  when  they 


S5G  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

are  of  an  age  to  think  for  themselves.  Do  you  consent  to 
this,  my  dear?  or  would  you  prefer  that  Mr.  Playmore  should 
see  your  husband,  and  act  for  you  in  the  matter  ?" 

I  decided,  without  hesitation,  to  take  the  responsibility  on 
myself.  Where  the  question  of  guiding  Eustace's  decision 
was  concerned,  I  considered  my  influence  to  be  decidedly 
superior  to  the  influence  of  Mr.  Playmore.  My  choice  met 
with  Benjamin's  full  approval.  He  arranged  to  write  to 
Edinburgh,  and  relieve  the  lawyer's  anxieties  by  that  day's 
post. 

The  one  last  thing  now  left  to  be  settled  related  to  our 
plans  for  returning  to  England.  The  doctors  were  the  au- 
thorities on  this  subject.  I  promised  to  consult  them  about 
it  at  their  next  visit  to  Eustace. 

"Have  you  any  thing  more  to  say  to  me?"  Benjamin  in- 
quired, as  he  opened  his  writing-case. 

I  thought  of  Miserrimus  Dexter  and  Ariel ;  and  I  inquired 
if  he  had  heard  any  news  of  them  lately.  My  old  friend 
sighed,  and  warned  me  that  I  had  touched  on  a  painful  sub- 
ject. 

"The  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  that  unhappy  man  is 
likely  to  happen,"  he  said.  "The  one  change  in  him  is  a 
change  that  threatens  paralysis.  You  may  hear  of  his  death 
before  you  get  back  to  England." 

"And  Ariel?"  I  asked. 

"Quite  unaltered,"  Benjamin  answered.  "Perfectly  hap- 
py so  long  as  she  is  with  '  the  Master.'  From  all  I  can  hear 
of  her,  poor  soul,  she  doesn't  reckon  Dexter  among  mortal 
beings.  She  laughs  at  the  idea  of  his  dying ;  and  she  waits 
patiently,  in  the  firm  persuasion  that  he  will  recognize  her 
again." 

Benjamin's  news  saddened  and  silenced  me.  I  left  him  to 
his  letter. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE   LAST   OF   THE    STOEY. 


IN  ten  days  more  we  returned  to  England,  accompanied 
by  Benjamin. 

Mrs.  Macallan's  house  in  London  offered  us  ample  accom- 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY.  357 

inodation.  We  gladly  availed  ourselves  of  her  proposal, 
•when  she  invited  us  to  stay  with  her  until  our  child  was 
born,  and  our  plans  for  the  future  were  arranged. 

The  sad  news  from  the  asylum  (for  which  Benjamin  had 
prepared  my  mind  at  Paris)  reached  me  soon  after  our  re- 
turn to  England.  Miserrimus  Dexter's  release  from  the  bur- 
den of  life  had  come  to  him  by  slow  degrees.  A  few  hours 
before  he  breathed  his  last  he  rallied  for  a  while,  and  recog- 
nized Ariel  at  his  bedside.  He  feebly  pronounced  her  name, 
and  looked  at  her,  and  asked  for  me.  They  thought  of  send- 
ing for  me,  but  it  was  too  late.  Before  the  messenger  could 
be  dispatched,  he  said  with  a  touch  of  his  old  self-impor- 
tance, "  Silence  all  of  you  !  my  brains  are  weary ;  I  am  going 
to  sleep."  He  closed  his  eyes  in  slumber,  and  never  awoke 
again.  So  for  this  man  too  the  end  came  mercifully,  without 
grief  or  pain !  So  that  strange  and  many-sided  life — with 
its  guilt  and  its  misery,  its  fitful  flashes  of  poetry  and  hu- 
mor, its  fantastic  gayety,  cruelty,  and  vanity — ran  its  des- 
tined course,  and  faded  out  like  a  dream ! 

Alas  for  Ariel !  She  had  lived  for  the  Master — what  more 
could  she  do,  now  the  Master  was  gone  ?  She  could  die  for 
him. 

They  had  mercifully  allowed  her  to  attend  the  funeral  of 
Miserrimus  Dexter — in  the  hope  that  the  ceremony  might 
avail  to  convince  her  of  his  death.  The  anticipation  was 
not  realized ;  she  still  persisted  in  denying  that  "  the  Mas- 
ter "  had  left  her.  They  were  obliged  to  restrain  the  poor 
creature  by  force  when  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  grave; 
and  they  could  only  remove  her  from  the  cemetery  by  the 
same  means  when  the  burial-service  was  over.  From  that 
time  her  life  alternated,  for  a  few  weeks,  between  fits  of  rav- 
ing delirium  and  intervals  of  lethargic  repose.  At  the  an- 
nual ball  given  in  the  asylum,  when  the  strict  superintend- 
ence of  the  patients  was  in  some  degree  relaxed,  the  alarm 
was  raised,  a  little  before  midnight,  that  Ariel  was  missing. 
The  nurse  in  charge  had  left  her  asleep,  and  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  of  going  down-stairs  to  look  at  the  dancing. 
When  the  woman  returned  to  her  post,  Ariel  was  gone. 
The  presence  of  strangers,  and  the  confusion  incidental  to 
the  festival,  offered  her  facilities  for  escaping  which  would 
not  have  presented  themselves  at  any  other  time.  That 
night  the  search  for  her  proved  to  be  useless.  The  next 
Q2 


358  THE   LA.TV   AND   THE    LADY. 

morning  brought  with  it  the  last  touching  and  terrible  ti- 
dings of  her.  She  had  strayed  back  to  the  burial-ground ; 
and  she  had  been  found  toward  sunrise,  dead  of  cold  and  ex- 
posure, on  Miserrimus  Dexter's  grave.  Faithful  to  the  last, 
Ariel  had  followed  the  Master !  Faithful  to  the  last,  Ariel 
had  died  on  the  Master's  grave  ! 

Having  written  these  sad  words,  I  turn  willingly  to  a  less 
painful  theme. 

Events  had  separated  me  from  Major  Fitz-David,  after 
the  date  of  the  dinner-party  which  had  witnessed  my  memor- 
able meeting  with  Lady  Clarinda.  From  that  time  I  heard 
little  or  nothing  of  the  Major ;  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I 
had  almost  entirely  forgotten  him — when  I  was  reminded 
of  the  modern  Don  Juan  by  the  amazing  appearance  of 
wedding -cards,  addressed  to  me  at  my  mother-in-law's 
house !  The  Major  had  settled  in  life  at  last.  And,  more 
wonderful  still,  the  Major  had  chosen  as  the  lawful  ruler  of 
his  household  and  himself — "the  future  Queen  of  Song," 
the  round -eyed,  overdressed  young  lady  with  the  strident 
soprano  voice  ! 

We  paid  our  visit  of  congratulation  in  due  form ;  and  we 
really  did  feel  for  Major  Fitz-David. 

The  ordeal  of  marriage  had  so  changed  my  gay  and  gal- 
lant admirer  of  former  times,  that  I  hardly  knew  him  again. 
He  had  lost  all  his  pretensions  to  youth:  he  had  become, 
hopelessly  and  undisguisedly,  an  old  man.  Standing  behind 
the  chair  on  which  his  imperious  young  wife  sat  enthroned, 
he  looked  at  her  submissively  between  every  two  words  that 
he  addressed  to  me,  as  if  he  waited  for  her  permission  to  open 
his  lips  and  speak.  Whenever  she  interrupted  him — and  she 
did  it,  over  and  over  again,  without  ceremony — he  submit- 
ted with  a  senile  docility  and  admiration,  at  once  absurd  and 
shocking  to  see. 

"  Isn't  she  beautiful  ?"  he  said  to  me  (in  his  wife's  hear- 
ing !).  "  What  a  figure,  and  what  a  voice  !  You  remember 
her  voice  ?  It's  a  loss,  my  dear  lady,  an  irretrievable  loss,  to 
the  operatic  stage  !  Do  you  know,  when  I  think  what  that 
grand  creature  might  have  done,  I  sometimes  ask  myself  if  I 
really  had  any  right  to  marry  her.  I  feel,  upon  my  honor  I 
feel,  as  if  I  had  committed  a  fraud  on  the  public !" 

As  for  the  favored  object  of  this  quaint  mixture  of  admi- 


THE    LAW    AND   TIIK    LADY.  359 

ration  and  regret,  she  was  pleased  to  receive  me  graciously, 
as  an  old  friend.  While  Eustace  was  talking  to  the  Major, 
the  bride  drew  rne  aside  out  of  their  hearing,  and  explained 
her  motives  for  marrying,  with  a  candor  which  was  positive- 
ly shameless. 

"  You  see  we  are  a  large  family  at  home,  quite  unprovided 
for!"  this  odious  young  woman  whispered  in  my  ear.  "It's 
all  very  well  about  my  being  a  'Queen  of  Song'  and  the 
rest  of  it.  Lord  bless  you,  I  have  been  often  enough  to  the 
opera,  and  I  have  learned  enough  of  my  music-master,  to 
know  what  it  takes  to  make  a  fine  singer.  I  haven't  the  pa- 
tience to  work  at  it  as  those  foreign  women  do :  a  parcel  of 
brazen-faced  Jezebels — I  hate  them !  Xo !  no  !  between  you 
and  me,  it  was  a  great  deal  easier  to  get  the  money  by  mar- 
rying the  old  gentleman.  Here  I  am,  provided  for — and 
there's  all  my  family  provided  for,  too — and  nothing  to  do 
but  to  spend  the  money.  I  am  fond  of  my  family ;  I'm  a 
good  daughter  and  sister — I  am !  See  how  I'm  dressed ; 
look  at  the  furniture :  I  haven't  played  my  cards  badly,  have 
I  ?  It's  a  great  advantage  to  marry  an  old  man — you  can 
twist  him  round  your  little  finger.  Happy  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I'm 
quite  happy ;  and  I  Lope  you  are,  too.  Where  are  you  liv- 
ing now?  I  shall  call  soon,  and  have  a  long  gossip  with 
you.  I  always  had  a  sort  of  liking  for  you,  and  (now  I'm  as 
good  as  you  are)  I  want  to  be  friends." 

I  made  a  short  and  civil  reply  to  this;  determining  in- 
wardly that  when  she  did  visit  me  she  should  get  no  farther 
than  the  house-door.  I  don't  scruple  to  say  that  I  was  thor- 
oughly disgusted  with  her.  When  a  woman  sells  herself  to 
a  man,  that  vile  bargain  is  none  the  less  infamous  (to  my 
mind)  because  it  happens  to  be  made  under  the  sanction  of 
the  Church  and  the  Law. 


As  I  sit  at  the  desk  thinking,  the  picture  of  the  Major  and 
liis  wife  vanishes  from  my  memory — and  the  last  scene  in 
my  story  comes  slowly  into  view. 

The  place  is  my  bedroom.  The  persons  (both,  if  you  will 
be  pleased  to  excuse  them,  in  bed)  are  myself  and  my  son. 
Iff  is  already  three  weeks  old;  and  he  is  now  lying  fast 
asleep  by  his  mother's  side.  My  good  Uncle  Starkweather 
is  coming  to  London  to  baptize  him.  Mrs.  Macallan  will  be 


3GO  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

his  godmother;  and  his  godfathers  will  be  Benjamin  and 
Mr.  Playmore.  I  wonder  whether  my  christening  will  pass 
off  more  merrily  than  my  wedding  ? 

The  doctor  has  just  left  the  house,  in  some  little  perplex- 
ity about  me.  He  has  found  me  reclining  as  usual  (latterly) 
in  my  arm-chair;  but  on  this  particular  day  he  has  detect- 
ed symptoms  of  exhaustion,  which  he  finds  quite  unaccount- 
able under  the  circumstances,  and  which  warn  him  to  exert 
his  authority  by  sending  me  back  to  my  bed. 

The  truth  is  that  I  have  not  taken  the  doctor  into  my  con- 
fidence. There  are  two  causes  for  those  signs  of  exhaustion 
which  have  surprised  my  medical  attendant — and  the  names 
of  them  are — Anxiety  and  Suspense. 

On  this  day  I  have  at  last  summoned  courage  enough  to 
perform,  the  promise  which  I  made  to  my  husband  in  Paris. 
He  is  informed,  by  this  time,  how  his  wife's  confession  was 
discovered.  He  knows  (on  Mr.  Playmore's  authority)  that 
the  letter  may  be  made  the  means,  if  he  so  will  it,  of  pub- 
licly vindicating  his  innocence  in  a  Court  of  Law.  And,  last 
and  most  important  of  all,  he  is  now  aware  that  the  Confes- 
sion itself  has  been  kept  a  sealed  secret  from  him,  out  of 
compassionate  regard  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  as  well  as 
for  the  memory  of  the  unhappy  woman  who  was  once  his 
wife. 

These  necessary  disclosures  I  have  communicated  to  my 
husband  —  not  by  word  of  mouth ;  when  the  time  came,  I 
shrank  from  speaking  to  him  personally  of  his  first  wife — but 
by  a  written  statement  of  the  circumstances,  taken  mainly 
out  of  my  letters  received  in  Paris  from  Benjamin  and  Mr. 
Playmore.  He  has  now  had  ample  time  to  read  all  that  I 
have  written  to  him,  and  to  reflect  on  it  in  the  retirement  of 
his  own  study.  I  am  waiting,  with  the  fatal  letter  in  my 
hand — and  my  mother-in-law  is  waiting  in  the  next  room  to 
me — to  hear  from  his  own  lips  whether  he  decides  to  break 
the  seal  or  not. 

The  minutes  pass  ;  and  still  we  fail  to  hear  his  footstep  on 
the  stairs.  My  doubts  as  to  which  way  his  decision  may 
turn  affect  me  more  and  more  uneasily  the  longer  I  wait. 
The  very  possession  of  the  letter,  in  the  present  excited  state 
of  my  nerves,  oppresses  and  revolts  me.  I  shrink  from  touch- 
ing it  or  looking  at  it.  I  move  it  about  restlessly  from  place 
to  place  on  the  bed,  and  still  I  can  not  keep  it  out  of  my  mind. 


THE    LAW   AND   THE    LADY.  301 

At  last,  an  odd  fancy  strikes  mo.  I  lift  up  one  of  the  baby's 
hands,  and  put  the  letter  under  it — and  so  associate  that 
dreadful  record  of  sin  and  misery  with  something  innocent 
and  pretty  that  seems  to  hallow  and  to  purify  it. 

The  minutes  pass;  the  half-hour  longer  strikes  from  the 
clock  on  the  chimney-piece ;  and  at  last  I  hear  him !  He 
knocks  softly,  and  opens  the  door. 

He  is  deadly  pale  :  I  fancy  I  can  detect  traces  of  tears  on 
his  cheeks.  But  no  outward  signs  of  agitation  escape  him  as 
he  takes  his  seat  by  my  side.  I  can  see  that  he  has  waited 
until  he  could  control  himself — for  my  sake. 

He  takes  my  hand,  and  kisses  me  tenderly. 

"  Valeria !"  he  says ;  "  let  me  once  more  ask  you  to  for- 
give what  I  said  and  did  in  the  by-gone  time.  If  I  under- 
stand nothing  else,  my  love,  I  understand  this :  The  proof 
of  my  innocence  has  been  found  ;  and  I  owe  it  entirely  to  the 
courage  and  the  devotion  of  my  wife  !" 

I  wait  a  little,  to  enjoy  the  full  luxury  of  hearing  him  say 
those  words — to  revel  in  the  love  and  the  gratitude  that 
moisten  his  dear  eyes  as  they  look  at  me.  Then  I  rouse  my 
resolution,  and  put  the  momentous  question  on  which  our 
future  depends. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  the  letter,  Eustace  ?" 

Instead  of  answering  directly,  he  questions  me  in  his  turn. 

"  Have  you  got  the  letter  here  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"Sealed  up?" 

"Sealed  up." 

He  waits  a  little,  considering  what  he  is  going  to  say  next 
before  he  says  it. 

"Let  me  be  sure  that  I  know  exactly  what  it  is  I  have  to 
decide,"  he  proceeds.  "  Suppose  I  insist  on  reading  the  let- 
ter— ?" 

There  I  interrupt  him.  I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  restrain 
myself.  But  I  can  not  do  my  duty. 

"  My  darling,  don't  talk  of  reading  the  letter !  Pray,  pray 
spare  yourself — " 

He  holds  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself,"  he  says.  "  I  am  thinking 
of  my  dead  wife.  If  I  give  up  the  public  vindication  of  my 
innocence,  in  my  own  lifetime — if  I  leave  the  seal  of  the  let- 
ter unbroken— do  you  say,  as  Mr.  Playmorc  says,  that  I  shall 


362  THE  LAW  AND  THE  LADY. 

be  acting  mercifully  and  tenderly  toward  the  memory  of 
my  wife  ?" 

"  Oh,  Eustace,  there  can  not  be  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  of 
it!" 

"Shall  I  be  making  some  little  atonement  for  any  pain 
that  I  may  have  thoughtlessly  caused  her  to  suffer  in  her 
lifetime  ?" 

"Yes!  yes!" 

"And,  Valeria— shall  I  please  You  ?" 

"  My  darling,  you  will  enchant  me !" 

"Where  is  the  letter?" 

"  In  your  son's  hand,  Eustace." 

He  goes  around  to  the  other  side  of  lie  bed,  and  lifts  the 
baby's  little  pink  hand  to  his  lips.  For  a  while  he  waits  so, 
in  sad  and  secret  communion  with  himself.  I  see  his  mother 
softly  open  the  door,  and  watch  him  as  I  am  watching  him. 
In  a  moment  more  our  suspense  is  at  an  end.  With  a  heavy 
sigh,  he  lays  the  child's  hand  back  again  on  the  sealed  letter ; 
and  by  that  one  little  action  says  (as  if  in  words)  to  his  son 
— "  I  leave  it  to  You  !" 

And  so  it  ended  !  Not  as  I  thought  it  would  end ;  not 
perhaps  as  you  thought  it  would  end.  What  do  we  know 
of  our  own  lives  ?  What  do  we  know  of  the  fulfillment  of  our 
dearest  wishes?  God  knows — and  that  is  best. 

Must  I  shut  up  the  paper?  Yes.  There  is  nothing  more 
for  you  to  read  or  for  me  to  say. 

Except  this  —  as  a  postscript.  Don't  bear  hardly,  good 
people,  on  the  follies  and  the  errors  of  my  husband's  life. 
Abuse  me  as  much  as  you  please.  But  pray  think  kindly  of 
Eustace  for  my  sake. 


THE   END. 


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